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PAULINE  FORE  MOFFITT 
LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
GENERAL  LIBRARY,  BERKELEY 


BY  MYRTLE  REED 


LOVE  LETTERS  OF  A  MUSICIAN 

LATER  LOVE  LETTERS  OF  A  MUSICIAN 

THE  SPINSTER  BOOK 

LAVENDER  AND  OLD  LACE 

PICKABACK  SONGS 

THE  SHADOW  OF  VICTORY 

THE  MASTER'S  VIOLIN 

THE  BOOK  OF  CLEVER  BEASTS 

AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  JACK-O'-LANTERN 

A  SPINNER  IN  THE  SUN 

LOVE  AFFAIRS  OF  LITERARY  MEN 

FLOWER  OF  THE  DUSK 

OLD  ROSE  AND  SILVER 


OLD  ROSE  AND 
SILVER 

BY  MYRTLE  REED 


G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 
New  York  and  London 
Ube  IRnicherbocfcer  press 

1910 


COPYRIGHT,  1909 

BY 
MYRTLE  REED  McCULLOUGH 


Published,   September,  1909 

Reprinted,  September,  1909  ;  October,  1909 

December,  1909  ;  January,  1910 


XTbc  -fcnfcfeerbocfeer  press,  -flew  JJJorfc 


GIF! 


Hutbor's  IRote 

The  music  which  appears  in  the  following 
pages  is  from  an  unpublished  piano  arrange 
ment,  by  Grant  Weber,  of  Wilson  G.  Smith's 
"  Entreaty,"  published  by  G.  Schirmer,  New 
York. 


Ill 


Hutbor'0 


878 


V 

Contents 

CHAPTER 

PAGE 

I  —  A  FALLING  STAR    . 

I 

Contents 

II    WELCOME  HOME    . 

'7 

Ill  —  THE  VOICE  OF  THE  VIOLIN 

32 

IV—  THE  CROSBY  TWINS 

48 

V  —  AN  AFTERNOON  CALL 

62 

VI—  THE  LIGHT  ON  THE  ALTAR 

76 

VII  —  FATHER  AND  SON  . 

89 

VIII  —  "THE  YEAR'S  AT  THE  SPRING" 

1  02 

IX  —  A  KNIGHT-ERRANT 

"5 

X  —  "SWEET-AND-TWENTY"   . 

130 

XI  —  KEEPING  THE  FAITH 

144 

XII  —  AN  ENCHANTED  HOUR    . 

i59 

XIII—  WHITE  GLOVES      . 

178 

XIV—  THE  THIRTIETH  OF  JUNE 

193 

XV—"  How  SHE  WILL  COME  TO  ME" 

208 

VI 


Contents 


Content- 


XVI — How  ISABEL  CAME         .         .  224 
XVII— PENANCE      .        .        .        .239 

XVIII— "LESS  THAN  THE  DUST"              .  253 

XIX — OVER  THE  BAR  .  .  .  269 

XX — RISEN  FROM  THE  DEAD  .  285 

XXI — SAVED — AND  LOST          .         .  300 

XXII— A  BIRTHDAY  PARTY        .        .  316 

XXIII— "TEARS,  IDLE  TEARS"    .         .  331 

XXIV— THE     HOUSE    WHERE     LOVE 

LIVED        ....  349 


©R>  "Rose  anb  Silver 


H  falling  Star 


THE  last  hushed  chord  died  into  silence, 
but  the  woman  lingered,  dreaming 
over  the  keys.  Firelight  from  the  end  of  the 
room  brought  red-gold  gleams  into  the  dusky 
softness  of  her  hair  and  shadowed  her  profile 
upon  the  opposite  wall.  No  answering  flash 
of  jewels  met  the  questioning  light — there  was 
only  a  mellow  glow  from  the  necklace  of 
tourmalines,  quaintly  set,  that  lay  upon  the 
white  lace  of  her  gown. 

She  turned  her  face  toward  the  fire  as  a 
flower  seeks  the  sun,  but  her  deep  eyes  looked 
beyond  it,  into  the  fires  of  Life  itself.  A 
haunting  sense  of  unfulfilment  stirred  her 
to  vague  resentment,  and  she  sighed  as  she 
rose  and  moved  restlessly  about  the  room. 


fn  tbe 

Jfirelfgbt 


IRose  anfc  Silver 


»re  l!?ou 

2>reamlmj? 


She  lighted  the  tall  candles  that  stood  upon 
the  mantel-shelf,  straightened  a  rug,  moved 
a  chair,  and  gathered  up  a  handful  of  fallen 
rose-petals  on  her  way  to  the  window.  She 
was  about  to  draw  down  the  shade,  but,  in 
stead,  her  hand  dropped  slowly  to  her  side, 
her  fingers  unclasped,  and  the  crushed  crimson 
petals  fluttered  to  the  floor. 

Outside,  the  purple  dusk  of  Winter  twi 
light  lay  soft  upon  the  snow.  Through  an 
opening  in  the  evergreens  the  far  horizon, 
grey  as  mother-of-pearl,  bent  down  to  touch 
the  plain  in  a  misty  line  that  was  definite  yet 
not  clear.  At  the  left  were  the  mountains, 
cold  and  calm,  veiled  by  distances  dim  with 
frost. 

There  was  a  step  upon  the  stair,  but  the 
strong,  straight  figure  in  white  lace  did  not 
turn  away  from  the  window,  even  when  the 
door  opened.  The  stillness  was  broken  only 
by  the  cheerful  crackle  of  the  fire  until  a  sweet 
voice  asked: 

"Are  you  dreaming,  Rose?" 

Rose  turned  away  from  the  window  then, 
with  a  laugh.  "Why,  I  must  have  been. 
Will  you  have  this  chair,  Aunt  Francesca?" 

She  turned  a  high-backed  rocker  toward 
the  fire  and  Madame  Bernard  leaned  back 
luxuriously,  stretching  her  tiny  feet  to  the 
blaze.  She  wore  grey  satin  slippers  with  high 
French  heels  and  silver  buckles.  A  bit  of 


H  Jfailfna  Star 


grey  silk  stocking  was  visible  between  the 
buckle  and  the  hem  of  her  grey  gown. 

Rose  smiled  at  her  in  affectionate  appre 
ciation.  The  little  old  lady  seemed  like  a  bit 
of  Dresden  china;  she  was  so  dainty  and  so 
frail.  Her  hair  was  lustreless,  snowy  white,  and 
beautifully,  though  simply,  dressed  in  a  bygone 
fashion.  Her  blue  eyes  were  so  deep  in  colour 
as  to  seem  almost  purple  in  certain  lights,  and 
the  years  had  been  kind  to  her,  leaving  few 
lines.  Her  hands,  resting  on  the  arms  of  her 
chair,  had  not  lost  their  youthful  contour,  but 
around  her  eyes  and  the  corners  of  her  mouth 
were  the  faint  prints  of  many  smiles. 

"Rose,"  said  Madame  Bernard,  suddenly, 
"you  are  very  lovely  to-night." 

"I  was  thinking  the  same  of  you,"  re 
sponded  the  younger  woman,  flushing.  "  Shall 
we  organise  ourselves  into  a  mutual  admira 
tion  society?" 

"We  might  as  well,  !  think.  There  seems 
to  be  nobody  else." 

A  shadow  crossed  Rose's  face-  and  her 
beauty  took  on  an  appealing  wistfulness. 
She  had  been  sheltered  always  and  she  hun 
gered  for  Life  as  the  sheltered  often  do.  Ma 
dame  Bernard,  for  the  thousandth  time,  looked 
at  her  curiously.  From  the  shapely  foot  that 
tapped  restlessly  on  the  rug  beneath  her  white 
lace  gown,  to  the  crown  of  dusky  hair  with 
red-gold  lights  in  it,  Rose  was  made  for  love 


tfon 


TRose  anfc  Stiver 


Hdbat 
Acre? 


— and  Madame  wondered  how  she  had  hap 
pened  to  miss  it. 

"Aunt  Francesca,"  said  Rose,  with  a 
whimsical  sadness,  "do  you  realise  that  I  'm 
forty  to-day?" 

"That's  nothing,"  returned  the  other, 
serenely.  "  Everybody  has  been  forty,  or  will 
be,  if  they  live." 

"I  haven't  lived  yet,"  Rose  objected. 
"I've  only  been  alive." 

"  'While  there 's  life  there 's  hope,'  "  quoted 
Madame  lightly.  "  What  do  you  want, 
dear  child?  Battle,  murder,  and  sudden 
death?" 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  want." 

"  Let 's  take  an  inventory  and  see  if  we 
can  find  out.  You  have  one  priceless  blessing 
— good  health.  You  have  considerably  more 
than  your  share  of  good  looks.  Likewise  a 
suitable  wardrobe;  not  many  clothes,  but 
few,  and  those  few,  good.  Clothes  are  sup 
posed  to  please  and  satisfy  women.  You  have 
musical  talent,  a  love  of  books  and  flowers, 
a  fine  appreciation  of  beauty,  a  host  of  friends, 
and  that  one  supreme  gift  of  the  gods — a  sense 
of  humour.  In  addition  to  all  this,  you  have 
a  comfortable  home  and  an  income  of  your 
own  that  enables  you  to  do  practically  as 
you  please.  Could  you  ask  for  more?" 

"  Not  while  I  have  you,  Aunt  Francesca.  I 
suppose  I  'm  horrid." 


H  failing  Star 


"You  couldn't  be,  my  dear.  I've  left 
marriage  out  of  the  question,  since,  if  you  'd  had 
any  deep  longing  for  it,  you  'd  have  chosen 
some  one  from  the  horde  that  has  infested  my 
house  for  fifteen  years  and  more.  You  've 
surely  been  loved." 

Rose  smiled  and  bit  her  lip.  "I  think 
that 's  it,"  she  murmured.  "  I  've  never  cared 
for  anybody — like  that.  At  least,  I  don't 
think  I  have." 

"'When  in  doubt,  don't/"  resumed  the 
other,  taking  refuge  in  a  platitude.  "  Is  there 
any  one  of  that  faithful  procession  w£om  you 
particularly  regret?" 

"No,"  answered  Rose,  truthfully. 

"Love  is  like  a  vaccination,"  continued  the 
little  lady  in  grey,  with  seeming  irrelevance. 
"When  it  takes,  you  don't  have  to  be  told." 

Her  tone  was  light,  almost  flippant,  and 
Rose,  in  her  turn,  wondered  at  the  woman  and 
her  marvellous  self-control.  At  twenty-five, 
Madame  Bernard  married  a  young  French 
soldier,  who  had  chosen  to  serve  his  adopted 
country  in  the  War  of  the  Rebellion.  In  less 
than  three  months,  her  gallant  Captain  was 
brought  home  to  her — dead. 

For  a  long  time,  she  hovered  uncertainly 
between  life  and  death.  Then,  one  day,  she 
sat  up  and  asked  for  a  mirror.  The  ghost 
of  her  former  self  looked  back  at  her,  for  her 
colour  was  gone,  her  hair  was  quickly  turning 


love 
Uaftca 


1R05C  ant>  Stiver 


TRUbtcb 


Dave? 


grey,  and  the  light  had  vanished  from  her  eyes. 
Yet  the  valiant  spirit  was  not  broken,  and 
that  day,  with  high  resolve,  she  sent  her  soul 
forward  upon  the  new  way. 

"He  was  a  soldier,"  she  said,  "and  I,  his 
wife,  will  be  a  soldier  too.  He  faced  Death 
bravely  and  I  shall  meet  Life  with  as  much 
courage  as  God  will  give  me.  But  do  not, 
oh,  do  not  even  speak  his  name  to  me,  or  I  shall 
forget  I  am  a  soldier  and  become  a  woman 
again." 

So,  gradually,  it  became  understood  that  the 
young  soldier's  name  was  not  to  be  mentioned 
to  his  widow.  She  took  up  her  burden  and 
went  on,  devoting  herself  to  the  army  service 
until  the  war  was  over.  Then  she  ceased  to 
labour  with  lint  and  bandages  and  betook 
herself  to  new  surroundings.  Her  husband's 
brother  offered  her  a  home,  but  she  was 
unable  to  accept,  for  the  two  men  looked 
so  much  alike  that  she  could  not  have  borne 
it.  Sometimes,  even  now,  she  turned  away 
in  pain  from  Rose,  who  resembled  her  father. 
'Rich  man,  poor  man,  beggar  man, 
thief/"  Madame  Bernard  was  saying.  "I 
seem  to  run  to  conversational  antiques  to 
night.  'Doctor,  lawyer,  merchant,  chief — ' 
which  will  you  have,  Rose?  If  I  remember 
rightly,  you  've  had  all  but  the  thief  already. 
Shall  I  get  you  a  nice  embezzler,  or  will  a  plain 
burglar  do?" 


H  Jfailina  Star 


"Neither,"  laughed  Rose.     "I  'm  safe  from    forts anfc 
embezzlers,  I  think,  but  I  live  in  nightly  fear 
of  being  burgled,  as  you  well  know." 

"None  the  less,  we  've  got  to  take  the  risk. 
Isabel  will  not  be  contented  with  you  and  me. 
She  '11  want  other  hats  on  the  rack  besides 
the  prehistoric  relic  we  keep  there  as  a 
warning  to  burglars." 

"I'd  forgotten  Isabel,"  answered  Rose, 
with  a  start.  "What  is  she  doing?" 

"Dressing  for  dinner.  My  dear,  that  child 
brought  three  trunks  with  her  and  I  under 
stand  another  is  coming.  She  has  enough 
clothes  to  set  up  a  modest  shop,  should  she 
desire  to  'go  into  trade,'  as  the  English  say." 

"I'd  forgotten  Isabel,"  said  Rose,  again. 
"We  must  find  some  callow  youths  to  amuse 
her.  A  girl  of  twenty  can't  appreciate  a 
real  man." 

"Sometimes  a  girl  of  forty  can't,  either," 
laughed  Madame,  with  a  sly  glance  at  Rose. 
"Cheer  up,  my  dear — I  'm  nearing  seventy, 
and  I  assure  you  that  forty  is  really  very 
young." 

"  It 's  scarcely  infantile,  but  I  '11  admit  that 
I  'm  young — comparatively." 

"  All  things  are  comparative  in  this  world,  and 
perhaps  you  and  Isabel,  with  your  attendant 
swains,  may  enable  me  to  forget  that  I  'm 
no  longer  young,  even  comparatively." 

The  guest  came  in,  somewhat  shyly.     She 


IRose  anfc  Silver 


fintcc 
fleabel 


was  a  cousin  of  Rose's,  on  the  mother's  side, 
and  had  arrived  only  that  afternoon  on  a  visit. 

"Bless  us,"  said  Madame  Bernard;  "how 
pretty  we  are!  Isabel,  you're  a  credit  to 
the  establishment." 

Isabel  smiled — a  little,  cool  smile.  She  was 
almost  as  tall  as  Rose  and  towered  far  above 
the  little  lady  in  grey  who  offered  her  a 
welcoming  hand  and  invited  her  to  sit  by 
the  fire.  Isabel's  gown  was  turquoise  blue 
and  very  becoming,  as  her  hair  and  eyes 
were  dark  and  her  skin  was  fair.  Her  eyes 
were  almost  black  and  very  brilliant;  they 
literally  sparkled  when  she  allowed  herself  to 
become  interested  in  anything. 

"I  'm  not  late,  am  I?"  she  asked. 

"No,"  answered  Rose,  glancing  at  the 
clock.  "It's  ten  minutes  to  seven." 

"I  couldn't  find  my  things.  It  was  like 
dressing  in  a  dream,  when,  as  soon  as  you  find 
something  you  want,  you  immediately  lose 
everything  else." 

"I  know,"  laughed  Rose.  "I  had  occasion 
to  pack  a  suit-case  myself  last  night,  during 
my  troubled  slumbers." 

A  large  yellow  cat  appeared  mysteriously 
out  of  the  shadows  and  came,  yawning, 
toward  the  fire.  He  sat  down  on  the  edge 
of  Madame's  grey  gown,  and  blinked. 

Isabel  drew  her  skirts  away.  "I  don't 
like  cats,"  she  said. 


H  falling  Star 


"There  are  cats  and  cats,"  remarked 
Madame  Bernard  in  a  tone  of  gentle  rebuke. 
"Mr.  Boffin  is  not  an  ordinary  cat.  He 
is  a  gentleman  and  a  scholar  and  he  never 
forgets  his  manners." 

"I've  wondered,  sometimes,"  said  Rose, 
"whether  he  really  knows  everything,  or  only 
pretends  that  he  does.  He  looks  very  wise." 

"Silence  and  reserve  will  give  anyone  a 
reputation  for  wisdom,"  Madame  responded. 
She  bent  down  to  stroke  the  yellow  head,  but, 
though  Mr.  Boffin  gratefully  accepted  the  caress, 
he  did  not  condescend  to  purr.  Presently  he 
stalked  away  into  the  shadows,  waving  his 
yellow  tail. 

"What  a  lovely  room  this  is,"  observed 
Isabel,  after  a  pause. 

"It's  comfortable,"  replied  Madame.  "I 
couldn't  live  in  an  ugly  place." 

Everything  in  the  room  spoke  eloquently 
of  good  taste,  from  the  deep- toned  Eastern 
rug  at  the  hearth  to  the  pictures  upon  the 
grey-green  walls.  There  was  not  a  false  note 
anywhere  in  the  subtle  harmony  of  line,  colour, 
and  fabric.  It  was  the  sort  of  room  that  one 
comes  back  to,  after  long  absence,  with  re 
newed  appreciation. 

"I  love  old  mahogany,"  continued  Isabel. 
"  I  suppose  you  've  had  this  a  long,  long 
time." 

"  No,  it 's  new.    To  me — I  mean.     I  have 


Subtle 
fearmong 


10 


IRose  anfc  Stiver 


Bffatt 


some  beautiful  old  French  mahogany,  but 
I  don't  use  it." 

Her  voice  was  very  low  at  the  end  of  the 
sentence.  She  compressed  her  lips  tightly  and, 
leaning  forward,  vigorously  poked  the  fire. 
A  stream  of  sparks  went  up  the  chimney  and 
quick  flames  leaped  to  follow. 

"Don't  set  the  house  on  fire,  Aunt  Fran- 
cesca,"  cautioned  Rose.  "There  's  the  dinner 
gong." 

The  three  went  out,  Madame  Bernard  a 
little  ahead  and  the  two  younger  women  to 
gether.  Rose  sat  opposite  the  head  of  the 
table  and  Isabel  was  placed  at  Madame' s 
right.  In  a  single  glance,  the  guest  noted  that 
the  table  was  perfectly  appointed. 

"Are  you  making  company  of  me?"  she 
asked. 

"Not  at  all,"  smiled  Madame.  "None  the 
less,  there  is  a  clear  distinction  between 
eating  and  dining  and  we  endeavour  to 
dine." 

"  If  Aunt  Francesca  were  on  a  desert  island," 
said  Rose,  "  I  believe  she  would  make  a  grand 
affair  of  her  solitary  dinner,  and  have  her 
coffee  in  the  morning  before  she  rolled  out  of 
the  sand." 

The  little  old  lady  dimpled  with  pleasure. 
"I'd  try  to,"  she  laughed.  "I  think 
I  'd " 

She  was  interrupted  by  a  little  exclamation 


Star 


of  pleasure  from  Rose,  who  had  just  dis 
covered  a  small  white  parcel  at  her  plate. 
She  was  untying  it  with  eager  fingers,  while 
her  colour  came  and  went.  A  card  fluttered 
out,  face  upward.  "To  my  dear  Rose,  with 
love  from  Aunt  Francesca,"  was  written  in  a 
small,  quaint  hand. 

It  was  a  single  magnificent  ruby  set  in 
a  ring  which  exactly  fitted.  Rose  seldom 
wore  rings  and  wondered,  vaguely,  how  Aunt 
Francesca  knew. 

"I  filled  a  finger  of  one  of  your  gloves," 
said  Madame,  as  though  she  had  read  the 
thought,  "and  had  it  fitted.  Simple,  wasn't 
it?" 

"Oh,"  breathed  Rose,  "it's  beautiful  be 
yond  words!  How  shall  I  ever  thank  you!" 

"  Wear  it,  dear.  I  'm  so  glad  you  're 
pleased!" 

"It's  lovely,"  said  Isabel,  but  the  tone 
was  cold  and  she  seemed  to  speak  with  an 
effort.  With  a  swift  little  stab  at  the  heart, 
Rose  saw  that  the  girl  envied  her  the  gift. 

"It  reconciles  me  to  my  years,"  Rose  went 
on,  quickly.  "  I  'm  willing  to  be  forty,  if  I 
can  have  a  ring  like  this." 

"Why,  Cousin  Rose!"  cried  Isabel,  in 
astonishment.  "Are  you  forty?" 

"Yes,  dear.  Don't  be  conventional  and 
tell  me  I  don't  look  it,  for  I  feel  it — every 
year." 


12 


IRose  arft  Stiver 


ttbc 
proper 
Setting 


"I  should  never  have  thought  it,"  Isabel 
murmured. 

Rose  turned  the  ring  slowly  upon  her  finger 
and  the  ruby  yielded  the  deep  crimson  glow  of 
its  heart  to  the  candlelight  that  softly  filled  the 
room.  "I've  never  had  a  ruby,"  she  said, 
"and  yet  I  feel,  someway,  as  though  I  'd 
always  had  this.  It  seems  as  if  it  belonged 
to  me." 

"That's  because  it  suits  you,"  nodded 
Madame  Bernard.  "I  hope  that  sometime 
our  civilisation  may  reach  such  a  point  of 
advancement  that  every  woman  will  wear 
the  clothes  and  jewels  that  suit  her  personality, 
and  make  her  home  a  proper  setting  for 
herself.  See  how  women  break  their  hearts 
for  diamonds — and  not  one  woman  in  a 
hundred  can  wear  them." 

"Could  I  wear  diamonds?"  asked  Isabel. 
She  was  interested  now  and  her  eyes 
sparkled. 

Madame  Bernard  studied  her  for  a  moment 
before  replying.  "Yes,"  she  admitted,  "you 
could  wear  them  beautifully,  but  they  do  not 
belong  to  Rose,  or  to  me." 

"What  else  could  I  wear?" 

"Turquoises,  if  they  were  set  in  silver." 

"I  have  one,"  Isabel  announced  with 
satisfaction.  "A  lovely  big  turquoise  matrix 
set  in  dull  silver.  But  I  have  no  diamonds." 

"They'll    come,"    Rose    assured    her,    "if 


a  Failing  Star 


you  want  them.  I  think  people  usually  get 
things  if  they  want  them  badly  enough." 

Isabel  turned  to  Madame  Bernard.  "What 
stones  do  you  wear?"  she  inquired,  politely. 

"Only  amethysts,"  she  laughed.  "I  have 
a  pearl  necklace,  but  it  does  n't  quite  'belong/ 
so  I  don't  wear  it.  I  won't  wear  anything 
that  doesn't  'belong.'  " 

"How  can  you  tell?" 

"By  instinct."  "I  can  walk  into  a  shop, 
look  around  for  a  moment,  and  say:  'please 
bring  me  my  hat.'  The  one  I  ask  for  is 
always  the  right  one.  It  is  invariably  be 
coming  and  suitable,  and  it 's  the  same  with 
everything  else." 

"  It 's  a  wonderful  experience  to  go  shopping 
with  Aunt  Francesca,"  put  in  Rose.  "She 
knows  what  she  wants  and  goes  straight  to 
it,  without  loss  of  time.  Utterly  regardless 
of  fashion,  for  its  own  sake,  she  always  con 
trives  to  be  in  the  mode,  though  I  believe  that 
if  hoop  skirts  were  suited  to  her,  she  'd  have 
the  courage  of  her  crinoline,  and  wear  one." 

"Let  us  be  thankful  they  're  not,"  remarked 
Madame.  "  It 's  almost  impossible  to  believe  it, 
but  they  must  have  looked  well  upon  some 
women.  Every  personality  makes  its  own 
demand  for  harmony  and  it  is  fascinating  to  me 
to  observe  strange  people  and  plan  for  them 
their  houses  and  clothes  and  belongings.  You 
can  pick  out,  from  a  crowd,  the  woman  who 


Ubings 

tbat 
•3Bclon0" 


14  oit)  IRose  anfc  Stiver 

Bfter  would  have  a  crayon  portrait  of  herself  upon  an 
easel  in  her  parlour,  and  quite  properly,  too, 
since  her  nature  demands  it.  After  you  are  ex 
perienced,  you  can  identify  the  man  who 
eats  sugar  and  vinegar  on  lettuce,  and  group 
those  who  keep  parrots — or  are  capable  of  it." 

The  seventy  years  sat  lightly  upon  Madame 
Francesca  now.  Her  deep  eyes  shone  with 
inward  amusement,  and  little  smiles  hovered 
unexpectedly  about  the  corners  of  her  mouth. 
A  faint  pink  tint,  like  a  faded  rose,  bloomed 
upon  her  cheeks.  Rose  watched  her  with 
adoring  eyes,  and  wondered  whether  any  man 
in  the  world,  after  fifteen  years  of  close 
association,  could  be  half  so  delightful. 

Coffee  was  brought  into  the  living-room, 
when  they  went  back,  preceded  by  Mr.  Boffin, 
emanating  the  dignified  satisfaction  of  a 
cat  who  has  supped  daintily  upon  chicken 
and  cream.  He  sat  down  before  the  fire  and 
methodically  washed  his  face. 

"I  believe  I  envy  Mr.  Boffin  his  perfect 
digestion,"  remarked  Madame,  as  she  sipped 
her  coffee  from  a  Royal  Canton  cup.  She 
and  Rose  stood  for  half  an  hour  after  dinner, 
always. 

Isabel  finished  her  coffee  and  set  the  cup 
upon  the  table.  She  slipped  the  Sheffield  tray 
from  under  the  embroidered  doily  and  took  it 
to  the  light,  where  she  leaned  over  it,  study 
ing  the  design.  Rose  thought  that  the  light 


H  Jfallfna  Star 


from  the  tray  was  reflected  upon  the  girl's 
face,  she  became  at  once  so  brilliant,  so 
sparkling. 

"Speaking  of  harmony — "  said  Madame 
Bernard,  in  a  low  tone,  glancing  at  Rose  and 
inclining  her  head  toward  Isabel. 

"Yes,"  replied  Isabel,  returning  the  tray 
to  its  place;  "it  is  a  lovely  one,  is  n't  it?" 

Madame  turned  toward  the  window  to  hide 
a  smile.  Rose  followed,  and  drew  the  little 
grey  lady  into  the  circle  of  her  strong 
arm. 

"Dear  Aunt  Francesca!"  she  said  softly. 
"I  thank  you  so  much!" 

The  older  woman  patted  the  hand  that 
wore  the  ruby,  then  turned  to  Isabel. 
"Come,"  she  said,  "and  be  glad  you're 
indoors. " 

The  three  women  stood  at  the  wide  window, 
looking  out  across  the  snow,  lighted  only  by 
the  stars  and  a  ghostly  crescent  of  moon. 
The  evergreens  were  huddled  closely  to 
gether  as  though  they  kept  each  other  warm. 
Beyond,  the  mountains  brooded  in  their 
eternal  sleep,  which  riving  lightnings  and  vast, 
reverberating  thunders  were  powerless  to 
change. 

Suddenly,  across  the  purple  darkness  be 
tween  the  pale  stars,  flamed  a  meteor — an 
uncharted  voyager  through  infinite  seas  of 
space.  It  left  a  trail  of  fire  across  the  heavens, 


B  tTrafl 
of  jf  ire 


i6 


®tt>  TRose  ant>  Stiver 


HsEacb 
©ne  Sees 
It 


fading  at  last  into  luminous  mist,  the  colour 
of  the  stars.  When  the  light  had  quite  died 
out,  Madame  Bernard  spoke. 

"A  passing  soul,"  she  sighed. 

"A  kiss,"  breathed  Rose,  dreamily. 

"Star-dust!"  laughed  Isabel. 


II 

Welcome  Ibome 


news,  my  dears,  great  news!" 
cried  Madame  Bernard,  gaily  waving      &O&B  *8 
an  open  letter  as  she  came  into  the  room  where 
Rose  was  sewing  and  Isabel  experimenting  with 
a  new  coiffure.     "  I  '11  give  you  three  guesses  !" 

"Somebody  coming  for  a  visit?"  asked 
Isabel. 

"Wrong!" 

"Somebody  coming,  but  not  for  a  visit?" 
queried  Rose. 

"You  're  getting  warmer." 

"  How  can  anybody  come,  if  not  for  a  visit  ?" 
inquired  Isabel,  mildly  perplexed.  "That  is, 
unless  it  's  a  messenger?  " 

"The  old  Kent  house  is  to  be  opened,"  said 
Madame,  "  and  we  're  to  open  it.  At  last  we 
shall  have  neighbours!" 

"How  exciting,"  Rose  answered.  She  did 
not  wholly  share  the  old  lady's  pleasure,  and 
wondered  with  a  guilty  consciousness  of  the  long 
hours  she  spent  at  her  music,  whether  Aunt 
Francesca  had  been  lonely. 


i8 


<W&  TRose  anfc  Silver 


TEbclctter  "  Listen,  girls!"  Madame's  cheeks  were  pink 
with  excitement  as  she  sat  down  with  the 
letter,  which  had  been  written  in  Paris. 

"  MY  DEAR  MADAME  FRANCESCA: 

" '  At  last  we  are  coming  home — Allison  and  I. 
The  boy  has  a  fancy  to  see  Spring  come  again 
on  his  native  heath,  so  we  shall  sail  earlier 
than  we  had  otherwise  planned. 

"'  I  wonder,  my  dear  friend,  if  I  dare  ask  you 
to  open  the  house  for  us?  I  am  so  tired  of 
hotels  that  I  want  to  go  straight  back.  You 
have  the  keys  and  if  you  will  engage  the  proper 
number  of  servants  and  see  that  the  place  is 
made  habitable,  I  shall  be  more  than  ever  your 
debtor.  I  will  cable  you  when  we  start. 

"'Trusting  that  all  is  well  with  you  and 
yours  and  with  many  thanks,  believe  me,  my 
dear  Madame, 

"'Most  faithfully  yours, 

"'RICHARD  KENT/" 

"How  like  a  man,"  smiled  Rose.  "That 
house  has  been  closed  for  over  ten  years,  and  he 
thinks  there  is  nothing  to  be  done  but  to  un- 
unlock  the  front  door  and  engage  two  or  three 
servants  who  may  or  may  not  be  trustworthy." 

"What  an  imposition!"  Isabel  said.  "Aunt 
Francesca,  did  n't  I  meet  Allison  Kent  when  I 
was  here  before  ?  " 

"  I  've  forgotten." 


TRUelcome  1bome 


"Don't  you  remember?  Mother  brought 
me  here  once  when  I  was  a  little  tot.  We 
stayed  about  a  week  and  the  roses  were  all  in 
bloom.  I  can  see  the  garden  now.  Allison 
used  to  come  over  sometimes  and  tell  me  fairy 
stories.  He  told  me  that  the  long,  slender 
gold-trimmed  bottles  filled  with  attar  of  roses 
came  from  the  roots  of  the  rose  bushes — don't 
you  remember?  And  I  pulled  up  rose  bushes 
all  over  the  garden  to  find  out." 

"Dear  me,  yes,"  smiled  Aunt  Francesca. 
"How  time  does  fly!" 

"  You  were  very  cross  with  Allison — that  is, 
as  cross  as  you  ever  could  be.  It  seemed  so 
queer  for  you  to  be  angry  at  him  and  not  at 
me,  for  I  pulled  up  the  bushes." 

"You  were  sufficiently  punished,  Isabel.  I 
believe  the  thorns  hurt  your  little  hands,  did  n't 
they  ?  " 

"They  certainly  did,"  responded  the  girl, 
with  a  little  shudder  at  the  recollection. 
"  I  have  a  scar  still.  That  was — let  me  see — 
why,  it  was  fifteen  years  ago!" 

"Just  before  I  came  to  live  with  Aunt 
Francesca,"  said  Rose.  "You  and  your 
mother  went  away  the  same  day." 

"  Yes,  we  went  in  the  morning,"  Isabel  con 
tinued,  "and  you  were  to  come  in  the  after 
noon.  I  remember  pleading  with  my  mother 
to  let  me  stay  long  enough  to  see  'Cousin 
Wose.'  " 


flDemortcs 
from 

Cbil&boo6 


TRose  anfc  Silver 


Ube 

Interlude 
of  I2ears 


"Fifteen  years!"  Madame  repeated.  "Alli 
son  went  abroad,  then,  to  study  the  violin, 
and  the  house  has  been  open  only  once  since. 
Richard  came  back  for  a  Summer,  to  attend  to 
some  business,  then  returned  to  Europe. 
How  the  time  goes  by!" 

The  letter  fell  to  the  floor  and  Francesca  sat 
dreaming  over  the  interlude  of  years.  Colonel 
Kent  had  been  her  husband's  best  friend, 
and  after  the  pitiless  sword  had  cleaved  her 
life  asunder,  had  become  hers.  At  forty  the 
Colonel  had  married  a  young  and  beautiful 
girl.  A  year  later  Francesca  had  gone  to  him 
with  streaming  eyes,  carrying  his  new-born  son 
in  her  arms,  to  tell  him  that  his  wife  was  dead. 

Drawn  together  by  sorrow,  the  two  had  been 
as  dear  to  each  other  as  friends  may  be  but 
seldom  are.  Though  childless  herself,  Fran 
cesca  had  some  of  the  gifts  of  motherhood,  and, 
at  every  step,  she  had  aided  and  counselled 
the  Colonel  in  regard  to  his  son,  who  had  his 
mother's  eyes  and  bore  his  mother's  name. 
Discerning  the  boy's  talent,  long  before  his 
father  suspected  it,  she  had  chosen  the  violin 
for  him  rather  than  the  piano,  and  had  herself 
urged  the  Colonel  to  take  him  abroad  for  study 
though  the  thought  of  separation  caused  her 
many  a  pang. 

When  the  two  sailed  away,  Francesca  had 
found  her  heart  strangely  empty;  her  busy 
hands  strangely  idle.  But  Life  had  taught  her 


ZKHelcome  fbome 


21 


one  great  lesson,  and  when  one  door  of  her 
heart  was  closed,  she  opened  another,  as 
quickly  as  possible.  So  she  sent  for  Rose,  who 
was  alone  in  the  world,  and,  for  fifteen  years, 
the  two  women  had  lived  happily  together. 

As  she  sat  there,  thinking,  some  of  her  gay 
courage  failed  her.  For  the  moment  her  mask 
was  off,  and  in  the  merciless  sunlight,  she 
looked  old  and  worn.  Rose,  looking  at  her  with 
tender  pity,  marvelled  at  the  ignorance  of  man, 
in  asking  a  frail  little  old  lady  to  open  and  make 
habitable,  in  less  than  a  fortnight,  a  house 
of  fifteen  large  rooms. 

"Aunt  Francesca,"  she  said,  "let  me  open 
the  house.  Tell  me  what  you  want  done,  and 
Isabel  and  I  will  see  to  it." 

"Certainly,"  agreed  Isabel  without  enthu 
siasm.  "We '11  do  it." 

"No,"  Madame  replied  stubbornly.  "He 
asked  me  to  do  it." 

"He  only  meant  for  you  to  direct,"  said 
Rose.  "  You  surely  don't  think  he  meant  you 
to  do  the  scrubbing  ?" 

Madame  smiled  at  that,  and  yielded  grace 
fully.  "There  must  be  infinite  scrubbing, 
after  all  these  years.  I  believe  I  '11  superin 
tend  operations  from  here.  Then,  when  it's 
all  done,  I  '11  go  over  and  welcome  them  home." 

"That  is  as  it  should  be.  Isabel  and  I  will 
go  over  this  afternoon,  and  when  we  come 
back,  we  can  tell  you  all  about  it." 


Me  'II  S>o 

ft 


22 


1Rose  anfc  Silver 


"  You  'd  better  drive — I  'm  sure  the  paths 
are  n't  broken." 

So,  after  luncheon,  the  two  started  out  with 
the  keys,  Madame  waving  them  a  cheery 
good-bye  from  the  window. 

"  Everything  about  this  place  seems  queer  to 
me,"  said  Isabel.  "  It 's  the  same,  and  yet  not 
the  same." 

"I  know,"  Rose  answered.  "Things  are 
much  smaller,  are  n't  they  ?" 

"Yes.  The  rooms  used  to  be  vast  and  the 
ceilings  very  far  away.  Now,  they  're  merely 
large  rooms  with  the  ceilings  comfortably  high. 
The  garden  used  to  seem  like  a  huge  park, 
but  now  it 's  only  a  large  garden.  There 
used  to  be  a  great  many  steps  in  the  stairway, 
and  high  ones  at  that.  Now  it 's  nothing 
compared  with  other  flights.  Only  Aunt 
Francesca  remains  the  same.  She  hasn't 
changed  at  all." 

"  She  's  a  saint,"  said  Rose  with  deep  con 
viction,  as  the  carriage  turned  into  the  drive 
way. 

The  house,  set  far  back  from  the  street,  was 
of  the  true  Colonial  type,  with  stately  white 
pillars  at  the  dignified  entrance.  The  garden 
was  a  tangled  mass  of  undergrowth — in  spite 
of  the  snow  one  could  see  that — but  the  house, 
being  substantially  built,  had  changed  scarcely 
at  all. 

"A  new  coat  of  paint  will  freshen  it  up  amaz- 


Welcome  Dome 


ingly,"  said  Rose,  as  they  went  up  the  steps. 
She  was  thrilled  with  a  mysterious  sense  of 
adventure  which  the  younger  woman  did  not 
share.  "  I  feel  like  a  burglar/'  she  continued, 
putting  the  key  into  the  rusty  lock. 

"I  feel  cold,"  remarked  Isabel,  shivering  in 
her  furs. 

At  last  the  wide  door  swung  on  its  creaking 
hinges  and  they  went  into  the  loneliness  and 
misery  of  an  empty  house  The  dust  of  ages 
had  settled  upon  everything  and  penetrated 
every  nook  and  cranny.  The  floors  groaned 
dismally,  and  the  scurrying  feet  of  mice 
echoed  through  the  walls.  Cobwebs  draped 
the  windows,  where  the  secret  spinners  had  held 
high  carnival,  undisturbed.  An  indescribable 
musty  odour  almost  stifled  them  and  the  chill 
dampness  carried  with  it  a  sense  of  gloom  and 
foreboding. 

"My  goodness!"  Isabel  exclaimed.  "No 
body  can  ever  live  here  again." 

"Don't  be  discouraged,"  laughed  •  Rose. 
"Soap,  water,  sunshine,  and  fire  can  accomplish 
miracles." 

At  the  end  of  the  hall  a  black,  empty  fireplace 
yawned  cavernously.  There  was  another  in 
the  living-room  and  still  another  in  the  library 
back  of  it.  Isabel  opened  the  door  on  the  left. 
"Why,  there  's  another  fireplace  in  the  dining- 
room,"  she  said.  "Do  you  suppose  they  have 
one  in  the  kitchen,  too  ?" 


Cobwebe 


an&  Silver 


Vlotec 


"Go  in  and  see,  if  you  like." 

"  I  'm  afraid  to  go  alone.    You  come,  too." 

There  was  no  fireplace  in  the  kitchen,  but 
the  rusty  range  was  sadly  in  need  of 
repair. 

"  I  'm  going  down  cellar,"  Rose  said.  "Are 
you  coming?" 

"I  should  say  not.  Hurry  back,  won't 
you?" 

Rose  went  cautiously  down  the  dark,  narrow 
stairway.  The  light  was  dim  in  the  basement 
but  she  could  see  that  there  was  no  coal. 
She  went  back  and  forth  several  times  from 
bin  to  window,  making  notes  in  a  small  mem 
orandum  book.  She  was  quite  determined 
that  Aunt  Francesca  should  be  able  to  find  no 
fault  with  her  housekeeping. 

When  she  went  back,  there  were  no  signs  of 
Isabel.  She  went  from  room  to  room,  calling, 
then  concluded  that  she  had  gone  back  to 
the  carriage,  which  was  waiting  outside. 

Rose  took  measurements  for  new  curtains 
in  all  the  rooms  on  the  lower  floor,  then  climbed 
the  creaking  stairway.  She  came  upon  Isabel 
in  the  sitting-room,  upstairs,  standing  absorbed 
before  an  open  desk.  In  her  hand  she  held 
something  which  gleamed  brightly,  even  in  the 
gathering  shadow. 

"Isabel!"  she  cried,  in  astonishment. 

The  girl  turned  and  came  forward.  Her  eyes 
were  sparkling.  "Look!  There's  a  secret 


Welcome  Dome  25 


drawer  in  the  desk  and  I  found  this  in  it.     I 

1  1  •*>!> 

love  secret  drawers,  don  t  you  ? 

"  I  never  have  looked  for  them  in  other 
people's  houses,"  Rose  answered,  coldly. 

"I  never  have  either/'  retorted  Isabel, 
"except  when  I  've  been  invited  to  clean  other 
people's  houses." 

There  was  something  so  incongruous  in  the 
idea  of  Isabel  cleaning  a  house  that  Rose 
laughed  and  the  awkward  moment  quickly 
passed. 

"Look,"  said  Isabel,  again. 

Rose  took  it  from  her  hand — a  lovely  minia 
ture  framed  in  brilliants.  A  sweet,  old- 
fashioned  face  was  pictured  upon  the  ivory  in 
delicate  colours — that  of  a  girl  in  her  early 
twenties,  with  her  smooth,  dark  hair  drawn 
back  over  her  ears.  A  scarf  of  real  lace  was  ex 
quisitely  painted  upon  the  dark  background  of 
her  gown.  The  longing  eyes  held  Rose  trans 
fixed  for  an  instant  before  she  noted  the  wist 
ful,  childish  droop  of  the  mouth.  The  girl 
who  had  posed  for  the  miniature,  if  she  had  been 
truthfully  portrayed,  had  not  had  all  that  she 
asked  from  life. 

"Look  at  this,"  Isabel  continued. 

She  offered  Rose  a  bit  of  knitting  work, 
from  which  the  dust  of  years  fell  lightly.  It 
had  once  been  white,  and  the  needles  were  still 
there,  grey  and  spotted  with  rust.  Rose 
guessed  that  the  bit  had  been  intended  for  a 


26 


1Rose  ant)  Stiver 


R  £>asbina 
12oun0 
SoWtt 


baby's  shoe,  but  never  finished.  The  little 
shoe  had  waited,  all  those  years,  for  hands  that 
never  came  back  from  the  agony  in  which  they 
wrung  themselves  to  death  in  the  room 
beyond. 

The  infinite  pity  of  it  stirred  Rose  to  quick 
tears,  but  Isabel  was  unmoved.  "Here's 
something  else,"  she  said. 

She  shook  the  dust  from  an  old-fashioned 
daguerreotype  case,  then  opened  it.  On  the 
left  side  was  a  young  soldier  in  uniform,  full 
length — a  dashing,  handsome  figure  with  one 
hand  upon  a  drawn  sword.  Printed  in  faded 
gilt  upon  the  dusty  red  satin  that  made  up  the 
other  half  of  the  case,  the  words  were  still 
distinct:  "To  Colonel  Richard  Kent,  from  his 
friend,  Jean  Bernard." 

"Jean  Bernard!"  Isabel  repeated,  curiously. 
"Who  was  he?" 

"Aunt  Francesca' s  husband,"  answered 
Rose,  with  a  little  catch  in  her  voice,  "  and  my 
uncle.  He  died  in  the  War." 

"Oh/'  said  Isabel,  unmoved.  "He  was  nice 
looking,  wasn't  he?  Shall  we  take  this  to 
Aunt  Francesca?" 

"  You  forget  that  it  is  n't  ours  to  take," 
Rose  reminded  her.  "And,  by  the  way,  Isabel, 
you  must  never  speak  to  Aunt  Francesca  of  her 
husband.  She  cannot  bear  it." 

"All  right,"  assented  the  girl.  "What  is 
this?" 


Welcome  tbome 


From  the  back  of  the  drawer  she  took  out  a 
bronze  medal,  with  a  faded  ribbon  of  red,  white, 
and  blue  attached  to  it.  She  took  it  to  the 
light,  rubbed  it  with  her  handkerchief,  and 
slowly  made  out  the  words:  "Awarded  to 
Colonel  Richard  Kent,  for  conspicuous  bravery 
in  action  at  Gettysburg." 

"Put  the  things  back,"  Rose  suggested,  gen 
tly.  This  tiny,  secret  drawer,  Colonel  Kent's 
holy  of  holies,  symbolised  and  epitomised  the 
best  of  a  man's  life.  The  medal  for  military 
service,  the  miniature  of  his  wife,  the  picture 
of  his  friend,  and  the  bit  of  knitting  work  that 
comprehended  a  world  of  love  and  anguish  and 
bereavement — these  were  the  hidden  chambers 
of  his  heart. 

Isabel  took  up  the  miniature  again  before 
she  closed  the  drawer.  "Do  you  suppose 
those  are  diamonds?" 

"No;  only  brilliants." 

"  I  thought  so.  If  they  'd  been  diamonds, 
he  would  never  have  left  them  here." 

"On  the  contrary,"  answered  Rose,  "I'm 
very  sure  he  would."  She  had  met  Colonel 
Kent  only  a  few  times,  years  ago,  during  the 
Summer  he  had  spent  at  home  while  Allison 
was  still  abroad,  but  she  knew  him  now, 
nevertheless. 

They  went  on  through  the  house,  making 
notes  of  what  was  needed,  while  their  foot 
steps  echoed  and  re-echoed  through  the 


tfteJBeet 
of  a  4Dan'0 


28 


R>  TRose  aufc  Silver 


tlbree  C'a 


empty  rooms.  "I'm  glad  there  are  no  car 
pets,  except  on  the  stairs,"  said  Rose,  "for 
rugs  are  much  easier  to  clean.  It  resolves 
itself  simply  into  three  Cs — coal,  curtains,  and 
cleaning.  It  won't  take  long,  if  we  can  get 
enough  people  to  work  at  it." 

It  was  almost  dusk  when  they  went  down 
stairs,  but  the  cold  slanting  sunbeams  of  a 
Winter  afternoon  came  through  the  grimy 
windows  and  illumined  the  gloomy  depths  of 
the  open  fireplace  in  the  hall.  Motes  danced 
in  the  beam,  and  the  house  somehow  seemed 
less  despairing,  less  alone.  A  portrait  of 
Colonel  Kent,  in  uniform,  hung  above  the 
great  mantel.  Rose  smiled  at  it  with  compre 
hension,  but  the  painted  lips  did  not  answer, 
nor  the  unseeing  eyes  swerve  from  their  steady 
searching  of  Beyond. 

"How  was  it?"  asked  Madame,  when  they 
reached  home.  "Dirty  and  bad?" 

"Rather  soiled,"  admitted  Rose. 

"And  colder  than  Greenland,"  Isabel  con 
tinued,  warming  her  hands  at  the  open  fire. 

"We'll  soon  change  all  that,"  Madame 
said.  "  I  've  ordered  coal  and  engaged  people 
to  do  the  cleaning  since  you  Ve  been  gone, 
and  I  have  my  eye  upon  two  permanent 
retainers,  provided  their  references  are  satis 
factory." 

"  I  've  measured  for  all  the  curtains,"  Rose 
went  on.  "  Shall  we  make  them  or  buy  them  ?  " 


Welcome  f>ome  29 

"We  '11  make  them.  If  we  have  help  enough 
we  can  get  them  done  in  time." 

The  following  day  a  small  army,  with  Rose 
at  the  head  of  it,  took  possession  of  the  house. 
Every  night  she  came  home  exhausted,  not 
from  actual  toil,  but  from  the  effort  to  instil 
the  pride  of  good  service  into  unwilling  work 
ers  who  seemed  to  rejoice  in  ignorance. 

"  I  'm  tired,"  Rose  remarked,  one  night. 
"  I  've  cerebrated  all  day  for  seven  bodies  be 
sides  my  own  and  I  find  it  wearing." 

"I  don't  wonder,"  answered  Madame. 
"  I  '11  go  over  to-morrow  and  let  you  rest." 

"Indeed  you  won't,"  declared  Rose,  with 
emphasis.  "  I  've  begun  it  and  I  'm  going  to 
finish  it  unless  the  Seven  Weary  Workers 
fail  me  absolutely." 

At  last  the  task  was  completed,  and  even 
Rose  could  find  no  speck  of  dust  in  the  entire 
establishment.  The  house  was  fresh  with  the 
smell  of  soap-suds  and  floor  wax  and  so  warm 
that  several  windows  had  to  be  kept  open. 
The  cablegram  had  come  while  the  curtains 
were  being  made,  but  everything  was  ready 
two  days  before  the  wayfarers  could  possibly 
reach  home. 

On  the  appointed  day,  Rose  and  Isabel 
were  almost  as  excited  as  Madame  Bernard 
herself.  She  had  chosen  to  go  over  alone  to 
greet  the  Colonel  and  his  son.  They  were 
expected  to  arrive  about  four  in  the  afternoon. 


3o 


an&  Silver 


At  three,  Madame  set  forth  in  her  carriage. 
She  wore  her  best  gown,  of  lavender  crepe, 
trimmed  with  real  lace,  and  a  bunch  of  helio 
trope  at  her  belt.  Rose  had  twined  a  few 
sprays  of  heliotrope  into  her  snowy  hair  and  a 
large  amethyst  cross  hung  from  her  neck  by  a 
slender  silver  chain.  She  wore  no  other  jewels 
except  her  wedding  ring. 

Fires  blazed  cheerily  in  every  fireplace  on  the 
lower  floor,  and  there  was  another  in  the  sit 
ting-room  upstairs.  She  had  filled  the  house 
with  the  flowers  of  Spring  —  violets,  daffodils, 
and  lilies  of  the  valley.  A  silver  tea-kettle 
with  a  lamp  under  it  waited  on  the  library 
table. 

When  she  heard  the  wheels  creaking  in  the 
snowy  road,  Madame  lighted  the  lamp  under 
the  kettle  with  her  own  hands,  then  opened 
the  door  wide.  Followed  by  their  baggage,  the 
two  men  came  up  the  walk  —  father  and  son. 

The  Colonel  was  a  little  older,  possibly,  but 
still  straight  and  tall  —  almost  as  tall  as  the  son 
who  walked  beside  him,  carrying  a  violin  case 
under  his  arm.  He  wore  the  familiar  slouch 
hat,  the  same  loose  overcoat,  and  the  same 
silvery  goatee,  trimmed  most  carefully.  His 
blue  eyes  lighted  up  warmly  at  the  sight  of  the 
figure  in  the  doorway. 

"Welcome  home!"  cried  Madame  Francesca, 
stretching  a  hand  toward  each.  "Welcome 
home!" 


Welcome  1bome 


3i 


Allison  only  smiled,  taking  the  little  hand  in 
his  strong  young  clasp,  but  his  father  bent,  hat 
in  hand,  to  kiss  the  one  she  offered  him. 

"Oh,"  cried  Madame,  "I  'm  so  glad  to  see 
you  both.  Come  in!" 

They  entered  their  own  hospitable  house, 
where  fires  blazed  and  the  kettle  sang.  "  Say," 
said  Allison,  "isn't  this  great!  Why  did  we 
ever  leave  it?  Is  n't  it  fine,  Father?  " 

But  "father"  still  had  his  eyes  upon  the  dainty 
little  lady  who  had  brought  iorth  the  miracle 
of  home  from  a  wilderness  of  dust  and  ashes. 
He  bent  again  over  the  small,  white  hand. 

"A  woman,  a  fire,  and  a  singing  kettle,"  he 
said.  "  All  the  dear,  familiar  spirits  of  the  house 
to  welcome  us  home." 


8>ear 
famUfat 


H  Crf  m0on 


in 

Gfoe  IDotce  of  tbe  IDioIin 

MADAME  BERNARD  and  Isabel  had  not 
yet  come  down  when  Rose  entered  the 
living-room,  half  an  hour  before  dinner.  The 
candles  were  lighted,  and  in  the  soft  glow  of 
the  reading  lamp  was  a  vase  of  pink  roses,  sent 
by  Colonel  Kent  to  his  old  friend.  The  deli 
cate  sweetness  filled  the  room  and  mingled 
with  the  faint  scent  of  attar  of  roses  and  dried 
rose  petals  which,  as  always,  hung  about  the 
woman  who  stood  by  the  table,  idly  rearrang 
ing  the  flowers. 

The  ruby  ring  caught  the  light  and  sent 
tiny  crimson  gleams  dancing  into  the  far 
shadows.  Her  crepe  gown  was  almost  the  colour 
of  the  ruby;  warm  and  blood-red.  It  was  cut 
low  at  the  throat,  and  an  old  Oriental  necklace 
of  wonderfully  wrought  gold  was  the  only 
ornament  she  wore,  aside  from  the  ring.  The 
low  light  gave  the  colour  of  the  gown  back  to 
her  face,  beautiful  as  always,  and  in  her  dusky 
hair  she  had  a  single  crimson  rose. 

Aunt  Francesca  had  said  that  the  Colonel 


TObe  Doice  of  tbe  Dfolin 


33 


was  very  much  pleased  with  the  house  and  glad 
to  be  at  home  again.  She  had  sent  over  her 
own  cook  to  prepare  their  first  dinner,  which, 
however,  she  had  declined  to  share,  content 
ing  herself  with  ordering  a  feast  suited  to  the 
Colonel's  taste.  To-night,  they  were  to  dine 
with  her  and  meet  the  other  members  of  her 
household. 

Madame  came  in  gowned  in  lustreless  white, 
with  heliotrope  at  her  belt  and  in  her  hair. 
She  wore  a  quaintly  wrought  necklace  of 
amethysts  set  in  silver,  and  silver  buckles,  set 
with  amethysts,  on  her  white  shoes.  More 
than  once  Rose  had  laughingly  accused 
her  of  being  vain  of  her  feet. 
.  "Why  shouldn't  I  be  vain?"  she  had  re 
torted,  in  self-defence.  "  Are  n't  they  pretty?  " 

"Of  course  they  are,"  smiled  Rose,  bending 
down  to  kiss  her.  "They  're  the  prettiest 
little  feet  in  all  the  world." 

Madame's  fancy  ran  seriously  to  shoes  and 
stockings,  of  which  she  had  a  marvellous  col 
lection.  Silk  stockings  in  grey  and  white, 
and  in  all  shades  of  lavender  and  purple, 
embroidered  and  plain,  with  shoes  to  match 
in  satin  and  suede,  occupied  a  goodly  space  in 
her  wardrobe.  At  Christmas-time  and  on  her 
birthday,  Rose  always  gave  her  more,  for  it 
was  the  one  gift  which  could  never  fail  to 
please. 

"How  lovely  the  house  is,"  said  Madame, 


34 


©to  1Rose  aito  Silver 


R  Simple 


looking  around  appreciatively.  "I  hope  the 
dinner  will  be  good." 

"  I  've  never  known  it  to  be  otherwise/'  Rose 
assured  her. 

"Am  I  all  right?     Is  my  skirt  even?" 

"You  are  absolutely  perfect,  Aunt  Fran- 
cesca." 

"Then  play  to  me,  my  dear.  If  my  out 
ward  semblance  is  in  keeping,  please  put  my 
mind  into  a  holiday  mood." 

Rose  ran  her  fingers  lightly  over  the  keys. 
"What  shall  I  play?" 

"Anything  with  a  tune  to  it,  and  not  too 
loud." 

Smiling,  Rose  began  one  of  the  simple  melo 
dies  that  Aunt  Francesca  loved  : 


Dotce  of  tbe  Violin 


35 


Suddenly,  she  turned  away  from  the  piano. 
Her  elbow,  falling  upon  the  keys,  made  a  harsh 
dissonance.  "Isabel,  my  dear!"  she  cried. 
"Are  n't  you  almost  too  gorgeous?" 

The  girl  stood  in  the  open  door,  framed  like 
a  portrait,  against  the  dull  red  background  of 
the  hall.  Her  gown  was  white  net,  shot  and 
spangled  with  silver,  over  lustrous  white  silk. 
A  comb,  of  filagree  silver,  strikingly  lovely  in 
her  dark  hair,  was  her  only  ornament  except 
a  large  turquoise,  set  in  dull  silver,  at  her  throat. 

"I'm  not  overdressed,  am  I?"  she  asked, 
with  an  eager  look  at  Madame. 

"  Not  if  it  suits  you.    Come  here,  dear." 

Isabel  obeyed,  turning  around  slowly  for  in 
spection.  Almost  instantly  it  was  evident  that 
Madame  approved.  So  did  Rose,  after  she  saw 
how  the  gown  made  Isabel's  eyes  sparkle  and 
brought  out  the  delicate  fairness  of  her  skin. 

"You  do  suit  yourself;  there's  no  question 
about  that,  but  you  're  gorgeous,  nevertheless." 
Thus  Rose  made  atonement  for  her  first  im 
pulsive  speech. 

Mr.  Boffin  came  in,  with  a  blue  ribbon  around 
his  neck,  and  helped  himself  to  Aunt  Fran- 
cesca's  chair.  Isabel  rocked  him  and  he  got 
down,  without  undue  haste.  He  marched 
over  to  a  straight-backed  chair  with  a  ^cushion 
in  it;  glared  at  Isabel  for  a  moment  with  his 
inscrutable  topaz  eyes,  then  began  to  purr. 

The  clock  chimed  seven  silvery  notes.     Ma- 


1  Boa  're 


36 


anD  Stiver 


Bernard  waved  her  white  lace  fan  im 
patiently.  "It's  the  psychological  moment/' 
Rose  observed.  "Why  don't  they  come?" 

"It's  Allison's  fault,  if  they're  late," 
Madame  assured  her.  "I  could  always  set 
my  watch  by  the  Colonel.  He  —  there,  what 
did  I  tell  you?"  she  concluded  triumphantly, 
as  footsteps  sounded  outside. 

When  the  guests  were  ushered  in,  Madame 
advanced  to  meet  them.  The  firelight  had 
brought  a  rosy  glow  to  her  lovely  face,  and  her 
deep  eyes  smiled.  Allison  put  his  violin  case 
in  a  corner  before  he  spoke  to  her. 

"Did  you  really?"  asked  Madame.  "How 
kind  you  are!" 

"I  brought  it,"  laughed  the  young  man, 
"just  because  you  did  n't  ask  me  to." 

"Do  you  always,"  queried  Rose,  after  he  had 
been  duly  presented  to  her,  "do  the  things 
you  're  not  asked  to  do?" 

"Invariably,"  he  replied. 

"Allison,"  said  Madame,  "I  want  you  to 
meet  my  niece  once  removed  —  Miss  Ross." 
The  Colonel  had  already  bowed  to  Isabel  and 
was  renewing  his  old  acquaintance  with  Rose. 

"Not  Isabel,"  said  Allison,  in  astonishment. 

"Yes,"  answered  the  girl,  her  eyes  spark 
ling  with  excitement,  "it  's  Isabel." 

"Why,  little  playmate,  how  did  you  ever 
dare  to  grow  up?" 

"  I  had  nothing  else  to  do." 


IDofce  of  tbe  Dfoltn 


37 


"But  I  didn't  want  you  to  grow  up,"  he 
objected. 

"  You  've  grown  up  some  yourself,"  she  re 
torted. 

"I  suppose  I  have,"  he  sighed.  "What  a 
pity  that  the  clock  won't  stand  still!" 

Yet,  to  Madame,  he  did  not  seem  to  have 
changed  much.  He  was  taller,  and  more 
mature  in  every  way,  of  course.  She  noted 
with  satisfaction  that  he  had  gained  control 
of  his  hands  and  feet,  but  he  had  the  same  boy 
ish  face,  the  same  square,  well-moulded  chin, 
and  the  same  nice  brown  eyes.  Only  his 
slender,  nervous  hands  betrayed  the  vio 
linist. 

"Well,  are  you  pleased  with  me?"  he  asked 
of  Madame,  his  eyes  twinkling. 

"Yes,"  she  answered  with  a  faint  flush. 
"If  you  had  worn  long  hair  and  a  velvet  collar, 
I  should  never  have  forgiven  you." 

Colonel  Kent  laughed  outright.  "I  should 
never  have  dared  to  bring  him  back  to  you, 
Francesca,  if  he  had  fallen  so  low.  We  're 
Americans,  and  please  God,  we  '11  stay  Ameri 
cans,  won't  we,  lad?" 

"You  bet,"  answered  Allison,  boyishly, 
going  over  to  salute  Mr.  Boffin.  "'But  in 
spite  of  all  temptations  to  belong  to  other 
nations,  I  'm  an  Am-er-i-can,'  "  he  sang,  under 
his  breath.  Through  the  mysterious  workings 
of  some  sixth  sense,  Mr.  Boffin  perceived 


Hn 
Bmertcan 


38 


ant>  Silver 


approaching  trouble  and  made  a  hurried 
escape. 

"Will  you  look  at  that?"  asked  Allison,  with 
a  hearty  laugh.  "  I  had  n't  even  touched  him 
and  he  became  suspicious  of  me." 

"As  I  remember,"  Madame  said,  "my  cats 
never  got  on  very  well  with  you." 

"  I  don't  like  them  either,"  put  in  Isabel. 

"I  like  'em,"  Allison  said.  "I  like  'em  a 
whole  lot,  but  it  is  n't  mutual,  and  I  never 
could  understand  why." 

At  dinner,  it  seemed  as  though  they  all  talked 
at  once.  Madame  and  the  Colonel  had  a  sepa 
rate  conversation  of  their  own,  while  Allison 
"reminisced"  with  Isabel,  as  he  said,  and 
asked  numerous  questions  of  Rose  in  regard 
to  the  neighbours. 

"Please  tell  me,"  he  said,  "what  has  be 
come  of  the  Crosby  twins  ?  " 

"They  're  flourishing,"  Rose  answered. 

"You  don't  mean  it!  What  little  devils 
they  were!" 

"Are,"  corrected  Rose. 

"Who  are  the  Crosby  twins?"  inquired 
Isabel. 

"They'll  probably  call  on  you,"  Rose  re 
plied,  "so  I  won't  spoil  it  by  endeavouring 
to  describe  them.  The  language  fails  to  do 
them  justice." 

"What  were  their  names?"  mused  Allison. 
"Let  me  see.  Oh,  yes,  Romeo  and  Juliet." 


Ode  Dolce  ot  tbe  tDiolin 


39 


"'Romie'  and  'Jule'  by  affectionate  ab 
breviation,  to  each  other,"  Rose  added.  Did 
you  know  that  an  uncle  died  in  Australia  and 
left  them  a  small  fortune  ?  " 

"No,  I  didn't.  What  are  they  doing  with 
it?" 

"Do  you  remember,  when  you  were  a  child, 
how  you  used  to  plan  what  you'd  do  with 
unlimited  wealth?" 

Allison  nodded. 

"Well,"  Rose  resumed,  "that's  just  what 
they  're  doing  with  it.  They  have  only  the 
income  now,  but  this  Fall,  when  they  're 
twenty-one,  they  '11  come  into  possession  of  the 
principal.  I  prophesy  bankruptcy  in  five 
years." 

"Even  so,"  he  smiled,  "they'll  doubtless 
have  pleasant  memories." 

"What  satisfaction  do  you  think  there  will 
be  in  that?"  queried  Isabel. 

"I  can't  answer  just  now,"  Allison  replied, 
"but  the  minute  I  'm  bankrupt,  I  '11  come  and 
tell  you.  It 's  likely  to  happen  to  me  at  any 
time." 

Meanwhile  Colonel  Kent  was  expressing  the 
pleasure  he  had  found  in  his  well-appointed 
household.  "Was  it  very  much  trouble, 
Francesca?" 

"None  at  all— to  me." 

"  You  always  were  wonderful." 

"You  see,"  she   smiled,   "I   didn't  do  it. 


and 


©16  TCose  an6  Stiver 


Ube  CIo0c& 
S)oot 


Rose  did  everything.  I  merely  went  over  at 
the  last  to  arrange  the  flowers,  make  the  tea, 
and  receive  the  credit." 

"And  to  welcome  us  home,"  he  added. 
"They  say  a  fireplace  is  the  heart  of  a  house, 
but  I  think  a  woman  is  the  soul  of  it." 

"Then  the  soul  of  it  was  there,  waiting, 
was  n't  it?" 

"  But  only  for  a  little  while,"  he  sighed.  "  I 
am  very  lonely  sometimes,  in  spite  of  the  boy." 

Francesca's  blue  eyes  became  misty. 
"When  a  door  in  your  heart  is  closed,"  she  said, 
"turn  the  key  and  go  away.  Opening  it  only 
brings  pain." 

"  I  know,"  he  answered,  clearing  his  throat. 
"  You  've  told  me  that  before  and  I  've  often 
thought  of  it.  Yet  sometimes  it  seems  as 
though  all  of  life  was  behind  that  door." 

"Ah,  but  it  isn't.  Your  son  and  at  least 
one  true  friend  are  outside.  Listen!" 

"No,"  Allison  was  saying,  "I  got  well 
acquainted  with  surprisingly  few  people  over 
there.  You  see,  I  always  chummed  with 
Dad." 

"  Bless  him,"  said  Francesca,  impulsively. 

"Have  I  done  well?"  asked  the  Colonel, 
anxiously.  "  It  was  hard  work,  alone." 

"  Indeed  you  have  done  well.  I  hear  that 
he  is  a  great  artist." 

"  He  's  more  than  that — he 's  a  man.  He  's 
clean  and  a  good  shot,  and  he  is  n't  afraid  of 


ZTbe  Dolce  of  tbe  IDfolfn 


anything.  Someway,  to  me,  a  man  who 
played  the  fiddle  always  seemed,  well — lady 
like,  you  know.  But  Allison  is  n't." 

"No,"  answered  Francesca,  demurely/'  he 
is  n't.  Do  I  infer  that  it  is  a  disgrace  to  be 
ladylike?" 

"Not  for  a  woman,"  laughed  the  Colonel. 
"Why  do  you  pretend  to  misunderstand  me? 
You  always  know  what  I  mean." 

After  dinner,  when  the  coffee  had  been  served, 
Allison  took  out  his  violin,  of  his  own  accord. 
"  You  have  n't  asked  me  to  play,  but  I  'm 
going  to.  Who  is  going  to  play  my  ac 
companiment?  Don't  all  speak  at  once." 

Rose  went  to  the  piano  and  looked  over  his 
music.  "  I  '11  try.  Fortunately  I  'm  familiar 
with  some  of  this." 

His  first  notes  came  with  a  clearness  and 
authority  for  which  she  was  wholly  unpre 
pared.  She  followed  the  accompaniment  al 
most  perfectly,  but  mechanically,  lost  as  she 
was  in  the  wonder  and  delight  of  his  playing. 
The  exquisite  harmony  seemed  to  be  the  in 
most  soul  of  the  violin,  speaking  at  last, 
through  forgotten  ages,  of  things  made  with  the 
world — Love  and  Death  and  Parting.  Above 
it  and  through  it  hovered  a  spirit  of  longing, 
infinite  and  untranslatable,  yet  clear  as  some 
high  call. 

Subtly,  Rose  answered  to  it.  In  some  mys 
terious  way,  she  seemed  set  free  from  bondage. 


B  Spirit  of 

longing 


TCose  anfc  Stiver 


JBrtween 


Unsuspected  fetters  loosened;  she  had  a  sense 
of  largeness,  of  freedom  which  she  had  never 
known  before.  She  was  quivering  in  an  ecstasy 
of  emotion  when  the  last  chord  came. 

For  an  instant  there  was  silence,  then  Isa 
bel  spoke.  "How  well  you  play!"  she  said 
politely. 

"  I  ought  to/'  Allison  replied,  modestly. 
"  I  've  worked  hard  enough." 

"How  long  have  you  been  studying ?" 

"Thirty  years,"  he  answered.  "That  is,  I 
feel  as  if  I  had  been  at  work  all  my  life." 

"How  funny!"  exclaimed  Isabel.  "Are you 
thirty?" 

"Just,"  he  said. 

"Then  Cousin  Rose  and  I  are  like  steps,  with 
you  half  way  between  us.  I  'm  twenty  and 
she 's  forty,"  smiled  Isabel,  with  childlike 
frankness. 

Rose  bit  her  lips,  then  the  colour  flamed  into 
her  face.  "  Yes,"  she  said,  to  break  an  awk 
ward  pause,  "  I  'm  forty.  Old  Rose,"  she 
added,  with  a  forced  smile. 

"Nonsense,"  said  Allison  quickly.  "How 
can  a  rose  be  old  ?" 

"Or,"  continued  the  Colonel,  with  an  air  of 
old-world  gallantry,  "how  can  earth  itself  be 
any  older,  having  borne  so  fair  a  rose  upon  its 
breast  for  forty  years  ?  " 

"Thank  you  both,"  responded  Rose,  her 
high  colour  receding.  "Shall  we  play  again?" 


IDofce  of  tbe  IDfolfn 


43 


While  they  were  turning  over  the  music 
Madame  grappled  with  a  temptation  to  rebuke 
Isabel  then  and  there.  "Not  fit  for  a  parlour 
yet,"  she  thought.  "Ought  to  be  in  the 
nursery  on  a  bread  and  milk  diet  and  put  to 
bed  at  six." 

For  her  part, Isabel  dimly  discerned  that  she 
had  said  something  awkward,  and  felt  vaguely 
uncomfortable.  She  was  sorry  if  she  had 
made  a  social  mistake  and  determined  to  apolo 
gise  afterward,  though  she  disliked  apologies. 

Allison  was  playing  again,  differently,  yet 
in  the  same  way.  Through  the  violin  sounded 
the  same  high  call  to  Rose.  Life  assumed 
a  new  breadth  and  value,  as  from  a  newly 
discovered  dimension.  She  had  been  in  it, 
yet  not  of  it,  until  now.  She  was  merged 
insensibly  with  something  vast  and  universal, 
finite  yet  infinite,  unknown  and  undreamed-of 
an  hour  ago. 

She  was  quite  pale  when  they  finished. 
"  You  're  tired,"  he  said.  "  I  'm  sorry." 

"  I  'm  not,"  she  denied,  vigorously. 

"But  you  are,"  he  insisted.  "Don't  you 
suppose  I  can  see?"  His  eyes  met  hers  for 
the  moment,  clearly,  and,  once  more,  she 
answered  an  unspoken  summons  in  some 
silent  way.  The  room  turned  slowly  before 
her;  their  faces  became  white  spots  in  a  mist. 

"You  play  well,"  Allison  was  saying.  "I 
wish  you  'd  let  me  work  with  you." 


View 
Value* 


44 


IRose  anfc  Stiver 


"  I  '11  be  glad  to,"  Rose  answered,  with  lips 
that  scarcely  moved. 

"Will  you  help  me  work  up  my  programs 
for  next  season  ?  " 

"Indeed  I  will.  Don't  stop  now,  please  — 
really,  I  'm  not  tired." 

While  she  was  still  protesting,  he  led  her 
away  from  the  piano  to  an  easy  chair.  "Sit 
there,"  he  said,  "and  I  '11  do  the  work.  Those 
accompaniments  are  heavy." 

He  went  back  to  his  violin,  tightened  a  string, 
and  began  to  play,  alone.  The  melody  was  as 
delicate  in  structure  as  the  instrument  itself, 
yet  strangely  full  of  longing.  Slowly  the  vio 
lin  gave  back  the  music  of  which  it  was  made; 
the  wind  in  the  forest,  the  sound  of  many 
waters,  moonlight  shimmering  through  green 
aisles  of  forest,  the  mating  calls  of  Spring.  And 
again,  through  it  all,  surged  some  great  ques 
tion  to  which  Rose  thrilled  in  unspoken 
answer;  a  great  prayer,  which,  in  some  secret 
way,  she  shared. 

It  came  to  an  end  at  last  when  she  felt  that 
she  could  bear  no  more.  "What  is  it?"  she 
forced  herself  to  ask. 

"  I  have  n't  named  it,"  he  replied,  putting 
down  his  violin. 

"Is—  is  it—  yours?" 

"Of  course.    Why  not?" 

Isabel  came  to  the  piano  and  took  up  the 
violin.  "May  I  look  at  it?" 


tTbe  IDoice  of  tbe  Wiolin  4S 

"Certainly." 

She  stroked  the  brown  breasts  curiously  and 
twanged  the  strings  as  though  it  were  a  banjo. 
"What  make  is  it?" 

"Cremona.  Dad  gave  it  to  me  for  Christ 
mas,  a  long  time  ago.  It  belonged  to  an  old 
man  who  died  of  a  broken  heart." 

"What  broke  his  heart?"  queried  Isabel, 
carelessly. 

"  One  of  his  hands  was  hurt  in  some  way,  and 
he  could  play  no  more." 

"Not  much  to  die  of,"  Isabel  suggested, 
practically. 

"Ah,  but  you  don't  know,"  he  answered, 
shaking  his  head. 

Francesca  had  leaned  forward  and  was 
speaking  to  Colonel  Kent  in  a  low  tone. 
"I  think  that  somewhere,  in  the  House 
not  Made  with  Hands,  there  is  a  young  and 
lovely  mother  who  is  very  proud  of  her  boy 
to-night." 

The  Colonel's  fine  face  took  on  an  unwonted 
tenderness.  "I  hope  so.  She  left  me  a 
sacred  trust." 

Francesca  crossed  the  room,  drew  the  young 
man's  tall  head  down,  and  kissed  him.  "Well 
done,  dear  foster-child.  Your  adopted  mother, 
once  removed,  is  fully  satisfied  with  you,  and 
very  much  pleased  with  herself,  being,  vica 
riously,  the  parent  of  a  great  artist." 

"I   hope  you  don't  consider  me  'raised,'" 


46  ©R>  IRose  an&  Silver 

'Cousin  replied  Allison.  "You're  not  going  to  stop 
'mothering'  me,  are  you?" 

"  I  could  n't,"  was  her  smiling  assurance. 
"  I  've  got  the  habit." 

He  seemed  very  young  as  he  looked  down  at 
her.  Woman-like  she  loved  him,  through  the 
man  that  he  was,  for  the  child  that  he  had 
been. 

"Come,  lad,"  the  Colonel  suggested,  "it's 
getting  late  and  we  want  to  be  invited  again." 

Allison  closed  his  violin  case  with  a  snap, 
said  good-night  to  Aunt  Francesca,  then  went 
over  to  Rose.  "I  don't  feel  like  calling  you 
'Miss  Bernard,'"  he  said.  "May  n't  I  say 
'Cousin  Rose,'  as  we  rejoice  in  the  possession  of 
the  same  Aunt  ?  " 

"Surely,"  she  answered,  colouring  faintly. 

"Then  good-night,  Cousin  Rose.  I  '11  see 
you  soon  again,  and  we  '11  begin  work.  Your 
days  of  leisure  are  over  now." 

Isabel  offered  him  a  small,  cool  hand.  Her 
eyes  were  brilliant,  brought  out  by  the  spark 
ling  silver  of  her  gown.  She  glittered  even 
in  the  low  light  of  the  room.  "Good-night, 
Silver  Girl,"  he  said.  "You  haven't  really 
grown  up  after  all." 

When  the  door  closed,  Rose  gathered  up  the 
music  he  had  forgotten,  and  put  it  away. 
Isabel  came  to  her  contritely.  "Cousin  Rose, 
I  'm  so  sorry  I  said  that!  I  did  n't  think  !" 

"Don't    bother    about    it,"    Rose    replied, 


ZTbe  IDofce  of  tbe  ttttolin 


47 


kindly.  "It  was  nothing  at  all,  and,  besides, 
it 's  true." 

"  'Tell  the  truth  and  shame  the fam 
ily/  "  misquoted  Madame  Bernard.  "Age  and 
false  hair  are  not  things  to  be  flaunted,  Isabel, 
remember  that." 

Isabel  flushed  at  the  rebuke,  and  her  cheeks 
were  still  burning  when  she  went  to  her  room. 

"  I  don't  care,"  she  said  to  herself,  with  a 
swift  change  of  mood.  "  I  'm  glad  I  told  him. 
They  'd  never  have  done  it,  and  it 's  just  as 
well  for  him  to  know." 

Madame  Bernard  and  Rose  soon  followed  her 
example,  but  Rose  could  not  sleep.  Through 
the  night  the  voice  of  the  violin  sounded  through 
her  consciousness,  calling,  calling,  calling- 
heedless  of  the  answer  that  thrilled  her  to  the 
depths  of  her  soul. 


Gbe  Voice 

Still 
Sounding 


B  jformal 
(Call 


IV 

Crosby 

THE  Crosby  twins  were  making  a  formal  call 
upon  Isabel.  They  had  been  skating  and 
still  carried  their  skates,  but  Juliet  wore  white 
gloves  and  had  pinned  her  unruly  hair  into 
some  semblance  of  order  while  they  waited  at 
the  door.  She  wore  a  red  tam-o'-shanter  on 
her  brown  curls  and  a  white  sweater  under  her 
dark  green  skating  costume,  which  was  short 
enough  to  show  the  heavy  little  boots,  just  now 
filling  the  room  with  the  unpleasant  odour  of 
damp  leather. 

"Won't  you  take  off  your  coat?"  asked 
Isabel.  "You '11  catch  cold  when  you  go  out, 
if  you  don't  take  it  off." 

"Thanks,"  responded  Juliet,  somewhat 
stiffly.  Then  she  sketched  out  both  hands  to 
her  hostess,  laughing  as  she  did  so.  "Look!" 
The  sweater  sleeves  had  crept  up  to  her  elbows, 
displaying  several  inches  of  bare,  red  arm  be 
tween  the  sleeves  and  the  short  white  gloves. 

"That's  just  like  us,"   remarked  Romeo. 


Crosby  Uwin0 


49 


"If  we  try  to  be  elegant,  something  always 
happens;? 

The  twins  looked  very  much  alike.  They 
were  quite  tall  and  still  retained  the  dear  awk 
wardness  of  youth,  in  spite  of  the  near  approach 
of  their  twenty-first  birthday.  They  had  light 
brown  curly  hair,  frank  blue  eyes  that  met  the 
world  with  interest  and  delight,  well-shaped 
mouths,  not  too  small,  and  stubborn  little 
chins.  A  high  colour  bloomed  on  their  cheeks 
and  they  fairly  radiated  the  joy  of  living. 

"Can  you  skate  ?"  inquired  Romeo. 

"No,"  smiled  Isabel. 

"Juliet  can.  She  can  skate  as  far  as  I  can, 
and  almost  as  fast." 

"Romie  taught  me,"  observed  Juliet,  with 
becoming  modesty. 

"  Do  you  play  hockey  ?  No,  of  course  you 
don't,  if  you  don't  skate,"  he  went  on,  answer 
ing  his  own  question.  "Can  you  swim  ?" 

"No,"  responded  Isabel,  sweetly. 

"  Jule  's  a  fine  swimmer.  She  saved  a  man's 
life  once,  two  Summers  ago." 

"Romie  taught  me,"  said  Juliet,  beaming  at 
her  brother. 

"Can  you  row?"  he  asked,  politely. 

"No,"  replied  Isabel,  shortly.  "  I  'm  afraid 
of  the  water." 

"Juliet  can  row.  She  won  the  women's 
canoe  race  in  the  regatta  last  Summer.  The 
prize  was  twenty-five  dollars  in  gold." 


Qaugbt 
fflfc" 


®l&  1ROBC  anfc  Silver 


"TJDlbat 

Can  H?ou 

2)0?" 


"  Romie  taught  me,"  put  in  Juliet. 

"We'll  teach  you  this  Summer,"  said  Romeo, 
with  a  frank,  boyish  smile  that  showed  his 
white  teeth. 

"Thank  you,"  responded  Isabel,  inwardly 
vowing  that  they  would  n't. 

"Juliet  can  do  most  everything  I  can,"  went 
on  Romeo,  with  the  teacher's  pardonable 
pride  in  his  pupil.  "  She  can  climb  a  tree  in  her 
knickers,  and  fish  and  skate  and  row  and  swim 
and  fence,  and  play  golf  and  tennis,  and  shoot, 
and  dive  from  a  spring  board,  and  she  can  ride 
anything  that  has  four  legs." 

"Romeo  taught  me,"  chanted  Juliet,  in  a 
voice  surprisingly  like  his  own. 

There  was  an  awkward  pause,  then  Romeo 
turned  to  his  hostess.  "What  can  you  do?" 
he  asked,  meaning  to  be  deferential.  Isabel 
thought  she  detected  a  faint  trace  of  sarcasm, 
so  her  answer  was  rather  tart. 

"  I  don't  do  many  of  the  things  that  men  do," 
she  said,  "but  I  speak  French  and  German,  I 
can  sing  and  play  a  little,  sew  and  embroider, 
and  trim  hats  if  I  want  to,  and  paint  on  china, 
and  do  two  fancy  dances.  And  when  I  go  back 
home,  I'm  going  to  learn  to  run  an  auto 
mobile." 

The  twins  looked  at  each  other.  "  We  never 
thought  of  it,"  said  Juliet,  much  crestfallen. 

"Wonder  how  much  they  cost,"  remarked 
Romeo,  thoughtfully. 


Crosby  ZTvpfns  51 


"Where  can  you  buy  'em?"  Juliet  inquired.      iota  of 
'  Anywhere  in  town?" 

"  I  suppose  so,"  Isabel  assented.    "Why  ?  " 

"Why?"  they  repeated  together.  "We're 
going  to  buy  one  and  learn  to  run  it!" 

"  You  must  have  lots  of  money,"  said  Isabel, 
enviously. 

"Loads,"  replied  Romeo,  with  the  air  of  a 
plutocrat.  "More  than  we  can  spend." 

"We  get  our  income  the  first  day  of  every 
month,"  explained  Juliet,  "and  put  it  into  the 
bank,  but  when  the  next  check  comes,  there's 
always  some  left."  They  seemed  to  consider 
it  a  mild  personal  disgrace. 

"Why  don't  you  save  it?"  queried  Isabel. 

"What  for?"  Romeo  demanded,  curiously. 

"Why,  so  you  '11  have  it  if  you  ever  need  it." 

"  It  keeps  right  on  coming,"  Juliet  explained, 
pulling  down  her  sweater.  "Uncle  died  in 
Australia  and  left  it  to  us.  He  died  on  the 
thirtieth  of  June,  and  we  always  celebrate." 

"Why  don't  you  celebrate  his  birthday?" 
suggested  Isabel,  "instead  of  the  day  he  died  ?" 

"His  birthday  was  no  good  to  us,"  replied 
Romeo,  "  but  his  death-day  was." 

"But  if  he  hadn't  been  born,  he  couldn't 
have  died,"  Isabel  objected,  more  or  less 
logically. 

"And  if  he  hadn't  died,  his  being  born 
would  n't  have  helped  us  any,"  replied  Juliet, 
with  a  dazzling  smile. 


TRose  anfc  Silver 


IClbat  1  e 


There  was  another  pause.  "Will  you  have 
some  tea?"  asked  Isabel. 

"With  rum  in  it  ?"  queried  Juliet. 

"  I  don't  think  so,"  said  Isabel,  doubtfully. 
"Aunt  Francesca  never  does." 

"We  don't,  either,"  Romeo  explained,  "ex 
cept  when  it 's  very  cold,  and  then  only  a  tea- 
spoonful." 

"The  doctor  said  we  did  n't  need  stimulants. 
What  was  it  he  said  we  needed,  Romie?  " 

"Sedatives." 

"Yes,  that  was  it — sedatives.  I  looked  it 
up  in  the  dictionary.  It  means  to  calm,  or 
to  moderate.  I  think  he  got  the  word  wrong 
himself,  for  we  don't  need  to  be  calmed,  or 
moderated,  do  we,  Romie?" 

"I  should  say  not!" 

The  twins  sipped  their  tea  in  silence  and 
nibbled  daintily  at  wafers  from  the  cracker  jar. 
Then,  feeling  that  their  visit  was  over,  they  rose 
with  one  accord. 

"We've  had  a  dandy  time,"  said  Juliet, 
crushing  Isabel's  hand  in  hers. 

"Bully,"  supplemented  Romeo.  "Come 
and  see  us." 

"I  will,"  Isabel  responded,  weakly.  "How 
do  you  get  there  ?  " 

"Just  walk  up  the  main  road  and  turn  to  the 
left.  It 's  about  three  miles." 

"Three  miles!"  gasped  Isabel.  "I  '11  drive 
out." 


ZTbe  Crosby  ZTwins 


S3 


"Just  so  you  come,"  Romeo  said,  graciously. 
"  It 's  an  awful  old  place.  You  '11  know  it  by 
the  chimney  being  blown  over  and  some  of  the 
bricks  lying  on  the  roof.  Good-bye." 

Juliet  turned  to  wave  her  hand  at  Isabel  as 
they  banged  the  gate,  and  Romeo  awkwardly 
doffed  his  cap.  Their  hostess  went  up-stairs 
with  a  sigh  of  relief.  She  had  the  sensation 
of  having  quickly  closed  a  window  upon  a 
brisk  March  wind. 

The  twins  set  their  faces  toward  home.  The 
three-mile  walk  was  nothing  to  them,  even 
after  a  day  of  skating.  The  frosty  air  nipped 
Juliet's  cheeks  to  crimson  and  she  sniffed  at 
it  with  keen  delight. 

"  It 's  nice  to  be  out,"  she  said,  "after  being 
in  that  hot  house.  What  do  you  think  of  her, 
Romie?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  he  replied  carelessly. 
"Say,  how  did  she  have  her  hair  done  up?" 

"She  had  rats  in  it,  and  it  was  curled  on  a 
hot  iron." 

"  Rats?  What  in  thunder  is — or  are — that, 
or  they?" 

"  Little  wads  of  false  hair  made  into  cushiony 
rolls." 

"Did  she  tell  you?" 

"No,"  laughed  Juliet.  "Don't  you  suppose 
I  can  see  a  rat  ?  " 

"  I  thought  rats  had  to  be  smelled." 

"Not  this  kind." 


©n  tbe 


Dome 


54 


18osc  ant>  Stiver 


H 

Jfascfnata 
ing  Subject 


"  She  smelled  of  something  kind  of  sweet  and 
sticky.  What  was  it?" 

"Sachet  powder,  I  guess,  or  some  kind  of 
perfume." 

"  I  liked  the  smell.    Can  we  get  some?" 

"  I  guess  so — we  've  got  the  price/' 

"Next  time  you  see  her,  ask  her  what  it  is, 
will  you  ?  " 

"All  right,"  answered  Juliet,  unperturbed  by 
the  request. 

The  rest  of  the  way  was  enlivened  by  a  dis 
cussion  of  automobiles.  Romeo  had  a  ^Dckey 
match  on  for  the  following  day,  which  was 
Saturday,  so  they  were  compelled  to  postpone 
their  investigations  until  Monday.  It  seemed 
very  long  to  wait. 

"It 's  no  good  now,  anyhow,"  said  Romeo. 
"We  can't  run  it  until  the  roads  melt  and  dry 
up." 

"That 's  so,"  agreed  his  twin,  despondently. 
"Why  did  she  tell  us  now  ?  Why  could  n't  she 
wait  until  we  had  some  chance  ?  " 

"  I  guess  we  can  learn  something  about  it 
before  we  try  to  run  it,"  he  observed,  cheerfully. 
"  If  we  can  get  it  into  the  barn,  we  can  take  it 
all  apart  and  see  how  it 's  put  together." 

"Oh,  Romie!"  cried  Juliet, with  a  little  skip. 
"How  perfectly  fascinating!  And  we'll  read  all 
the  automobile  literature  we  can  get  hold  of. 
I  do  so  love  to  be  posted! " 

Upon  the  death  of  their  father,  several  years 


ZTwtns 


55 


ago,  the  twins  had  promptly  ceased  to  go  to 
school.  The  kindly  old  minister  who  had  been 
appointed  executor  of  their  father's  small  es 
tate  and  guardian  of  the  tumultuous  twins  had 
been  unable  to  present  any  arguments  in 
favour  of  systematic  education  which  appealed 
to  them  even  slightly. 

"What  good  is  Latin?"  asked  Romeo,  appar 
ently  athirst  for  information. 

"Why — er — mental  discipline,  mostly,"  the 
harassed  guardian  had  answered. 

"  Is  n't  there  anything  we  'd  like  that  would 
discipline  our  minds?"  queried  Juliet. 

"  I  fear  not,"  replied  the  old  man,  who  lacked 
the  diplomacy  necessary  to  deal  with  the  twins. 
Shortly  after  that  he  had  died  with  so  little 
warning  that  he  had  only  time  to  make  out  a 
check  in  their  favour  for  the  balance  entrusted 
to  him.  The  twins  had  held  high  carnival 
until  the  money  was  almost  gone.  The  be 
quest  from  the  Australian  uncle  had  reached 
them  just  in  time,  so,  with  thankful  hearts, 
they  celebrated  and  had  done  so  annually  ever 
since. 

Untrammelled  by  convention  and  restraint, 
they  thrived  like  weeds  in  their  ancestral  dom 
icile,  which  was  now  sadly  in  need  of  repair. 
Occasionally  some  daring  prank  set  the  neigh 
bourhood  by  the  ears,  but,  for  the  most  part,  the 
twins  behaved  very  well  and  attended  strictly 
to  their  own  affairs.  They  ate  when  they  were 


Carnival 


©R>  IRose  anfc  Stiver 


JBobemia 


hungry,  slept  when  they  were  sleepy,  and,  if 
they  desired  to  sit  up  until  four  in  the  morning, 
reading,  they  did  so.  A  woman  who  had  a 
key  to  the  back  door  came  in  every  morning,  at 
an  uncertain  hour,  to  wash  the  dishes,  sweep, 
dust,  and  to  make  the  beds  if  they  chanced  to 
be  unoccupied. 

As  Romeo  had  said,  the  chimney  had  blown 
down  and  several  loose  bricks  lay  upon  the  roof. 
They  had  a  small  vegetable  garden,  fenced  in, 
and  an  itinerant  gardener  looked  after  it,  in 
Summer,  but  they  had  no  flowers,  because  they 
maintained  a  large  herd  of  stray  dogs,  mostly 
mongrels,  that  would  have  had  no  home  had  it 
not  been  for  the  hospitable  twins.  Romeo 
bought  the  choicest  cuts  of  beef  for  them  and 
fed  them  himself.  Occasionally  they  added 
another  to  their  collection  and,  at  the  last 
census,  had  nineteen. 

Their  house  would  have  delighted  Madame 
Bernard — it  was  so  eminently  harmonious  and 
suitable.  The  ragged  carpets  showed  the  floor 
in  many  places,  and  there  were  no  curtains  at 
any  of  the  windows.  Romeo  cherished  a  mas 
culine  distaste  for  curtains  and  Juliet  did  not 
trouble  herself  to  oppose  him.  The  furniture 
was  old  and  most  of  it  was  broken.  The  large 
easy  chair  in  the  sitting  room  was  almost  disem 
bowelled,  and  springs  showed  through  the  sofa, 
except  in  the  middle,  where  there  was  a  cavern 
ous  depression.  Several  really  fine  paintings 


Crosby 


57 


adorned  the  walls,  and  the  dingy  mantel  was 
glorified  by  exquisite  bits  of  Cloisonne  and 
iridescent  glass,  for  which  Juliet  had  a  pro 
nounced  fancy. 

"Set  the  table,  will  you,  Romie?"  called 
Juliet,  tying  a  large  blue  gingham  apron  over 
her  sweater.  "  I  'm  almost  starved." 

"So'm  I,  but  I've  got  to  feed  the  dogs 
first." 

"Let  'em  wait,"  pleaded  Juliet.  "Please 
do!" 

"Don't  be  so  selfish!  They're  worse  off 
than  we  are,  for  they  have  n't  even  had 
tea." 

While  the  pack  fought,  outside,  for  rib  bones 
and  raw  steak,  Juliet  opened  a  can  of  salmon, 
fried  some  potatoes,  put  a  clean  spoon  into  a  jar 
of  jam,  and  cut  a  loaf  of  bread  into  thick  slices. 
When  Romeo  came  in,  he  set  the  table,  made 
coffee,  and  opened  a  can  of  condensed  milk. 
They  disdained  to  wash  dishes,  but  cleared  off 
the  table,  after  supper,  lighted  the  lamp,  and 
talked  automobile  until  almost  midnight. 

In  less  than  an  hour,  Romeo  had  completed 
the  plans  for  remodelling  the  barn.  They  had 
no  horse,  but  as  a  few  bits  of  harness  remained 
from  the  last  equine  incumbent,  they  usually 
alluded  to  the  barn  as  "  the  bridle  chamber." 

"We'll  have  to  name  the  barn  again," 
mused  Juliet,  "and  we  can  name  the  automo 
bile,  too." 


(Betting 

Uea 


<W&  ffiose  an&  Stiver 


•"Cbe 
fellow 
peril" 


"Wait  until  we  get  it.  What  colour  shall  we 
have?" 

"They're  usually  red  or  black,  are  n't  they  ?" 
she  asked,  doubtfully. 

"  I  guess  so.  We  want  ours  different,  don't 
we?" 

"Sure.  We  want  something  that  nobody 
ever  had  before — something  bright  and  cheer 
ful.  Oh,  Romie,"  she  continued,  jumping  up 
and  down  in  excitement,  "  let 's  have  it  bright 
yellow  and  call  it  'The  Yellow  Peril' !" 

Her  twin  offered  her  a  friendly  hand. 
"Jule,"  he  said  solemnly,  "you  're  a  genius  !" 

"We'll  have  brown  leather  inside,  and  get 
brown  clothes  to  match.  Brown  hats  with 
yellow  bands  on  'em — won't  it  be  perfectly 
scrumptious  ?  " 

"Scrumptious  is  no  word  for  it.  Shall  we 
have  two  seats  or  four  ?  " 

"  Four,  of  course.  A  two-seated  automobile 
looks  terribly  selfish." 

"Stingy,  too,"  murmured  Romeo,  "and  we 
can  afford  the  best." 

"  Do  you  know,"  Juliet  suggested,  after  deep 
thought,  "  I  think  it  would  be  nice  of  us  if  we 
waited  to  take  our  first  ride  until  we  celebrate 
for  Uncle?" 

"It  would,"  admitted  Romeo,  gloomily, 
"  but  it 's  such  a  long  time  to  wait." 

"We  can  learn  to  run  it  here  in  the  yard — 
there  's  plenty  of  room.  And  on  the  thirtieth 


ZTbe 


ZCwfns 


59 


of  June,  we  '11  take  our  first  real  ride  in  it.  Be  a 
sport,  Romie,"  she  urged,  as  he  maintained  an 
unhappy  silence. 

"All  right — I  will,"  he  said,  grudgingly. 
"But  I  hope  Uncle  appreciates  what  we're 
doing  for  him." 

"That's  settled,  then,"  she  responded, 
cheerfully.  "Then,  on  our  second  ride,  we'll 
take  somebody  with  us.  Who  shall  we  invite  ?  " 

"Ought  n't  she  to  go  with  us  the  first  time?" 

"She?    Who's 'she'?" 

"Miss  Ross — Isabel.  She  suggested  it,  you 
know.  We  might  not  have  thought  of  it  for 
years." 

Juliet  pondered.  "  I  don't  believe  she  ought 
to  go  the  first  time,  because  the  day  that  Uncle 
died  does  n  't  mean  anything  to  her,  and  it 's 
everything  to  us.  But  we  '11  take  her  on  the 
second  trip.  Shall  I  write  to  her  now  and 
invite  her?" 

"  I  don't  believe,"  Romeo  responded,  dryly, 
"  that  I  'd  stop  to  write  an  invitation  to  some 
body  to  go  out  four  months  from  now  in  an 
automobile  that  is  n't  bought  yet." 

"But  it's  as  good  as  bought,"  objected 
Juliet,  "  because  our  minds  are  made  up.  We 
may  forget  to  ask  her." 

"  Put  it  on  the  slate,"  suggested  Romeo. 

In  the  hall,  near  the  door,  was  a  large  slate 
suspended  by  a  wire.  The  pencil  was  tied  to 
it.  Here  they  put  down  vagrant  memoranda 


plans 


6o 


1Rose  ant)  Silver 


and  things  they  planned  to  acquire  in  the  near 
future. 

Juliet  observed  that  there  was  only  one  entry 
on  the  slate:  "Military  hair  brushes  for  R." 
Underneath  she  wrote:  "Yellow  automobile, 
four-seated.  Name  it  'The  Yellow  Peril/ 
Brown  leather  inside.  Get  brown  clothes  to 
match  and  trim  with  yellow.  First  ride,  June 
thirtieth,  for  Uncle.  Second  ride,  July  first, 
for  ourselves.  Invite  Isabel  Ross." 

"Anything  else?"  she  asked,  after  reading  it 
aloud. 

"Dog  biscuit,"  yawned  Romeo.  "They  're 
eating  too  much  meat." 

It  was  very  late  when  they  went  up-stairs. 
Their  rooms  were  across  the  hall  from  each 
other  and  they  slept  with  the  doors  open.  The 
attic  had  been  made  into  a  gymnasium,  where 
they  exercised  and  hardened  their  muscles 
when  the  weather  kept  them  indoors.  A  tra 
peze  had  been  recently  put  up,  and  Juliet  was 
learning  to  swing  by  her  feet. 

She  lifted  her  face  up  to  his  and  received 
a  brotherly  peck  on  the  lips.  "Good-night, 
Jule." 

"Good-night,  Romie.     Pleasant  dreams." 

It  was  really  morning,  but  there  was  no 
clock  to  tell  them  so,  for  the  timepieces  in  the 
Crosby  mansion  were  seldom  wound. 

"Say,"  called  Romeo. 

"What?" 


Ube  Crosby  Uwins 


61 


"What  do  you  think  of  her?" 
"Who?" 

"  Miss — you  know.     Isabel." 
"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  responded  Juliet,  sleep 
ily.     "  I  guess  she  's  kind  of  a  sissy-girl." 


"CUbat  S)o 

JOou  Ubtnft 

of  Dec? 


62 


KMcbes  anb 
ttfcbes 


Hn  afternoon  Call 


AUNT  FRANCESCA,"  asked  Isabel,  "is 
Colonel  Kent  rich  ?." 

"Very/*  responded  Madame.  She  had  a 
fine  damask  napkin  stretched  upon  embroidery 
hoops  and  was  darning  it  with  the  most 
exquisite  of  stitches. 

"Then  why  don't  they  live  in  a  better  house 
and  have  more  servants  ?  That  place  is  old 
and  musty." 

"  Perhaps  they  like  to  live  there,  and,  again, 
perhaps  they  have  n't  enough  money  to  change. 
Besides,  that  has  been  Colonel  Kent's  home 
ever  since  he  was  married.  Allison  was  born 
there." 

Isabel  fidgeted  in  her  chair.  "If  they're 
very  rich,  I  should  think  they  'd  have  enough 
money  to  enable  them  to  move  into  a  better 
house." 

"Oh,"  replied  Madame,  carefully  cutting  her 
thread  on  the  underside,  "  I  was  n't  thinking 
of  money  when  I  spoke.  I  don't  know  any- 


Hn  Httcrnoon  Call 


thing  about  their  private  affairs.  But  Colonel 
Kent  has  courage,  sincerity,  an  old-fashioned 
standard  of  honour,  many  friends,  and  a  son 
who  is  a  great  artist.'* 

The  girl  was  silent,  for  intangible  riches  did 
not  appeal  to  her  strongly. 

"Allison  is  like  him  in  many  ways,"  Madame 
was  saying.  "He  is  like  his  mother,  too." 

"When  is  he  going  away  ?  " 

"In  September  or  October,  I  suppose — the 
beginning  of  the  season." 

"  Is  he  going  to  play  everywhere  ?  " 

"  Everywhere  of  any  importance." 

"Perhaps,"  mused  Isabel,  "he  will  make  a 
great  deal  of  money  himself." 

"Perhaps,"  Madame  responded,  absently. 
"I  do  hope  he  will  be  successful."  She  had 
almost  maternal  pride  in  her  foster  son. 

"  Is  Cousin  Rose  going,  too  ?  " 

" Going  where?    What  do  you  mean,  dear  ?  " 

"Why,  nothing.  Only  I  heard  him  ask 
her  if  she  would  go  with  him  on  his  concert 
tour  and  play  his  accompaniments,  providing 
you  or  the  Colonel  went  along  for  chaperone, 
and  Cousin  Rose  laughed  and  said  she  did  n't 
need  a  chaperone — that  she  was  old  enough 
to  make  it  quite  respectable." 

"And — "  suggested  Madame. 

"Allison  laughed,  too,  and  said:  'Non 
sense!'" 

"If  they  are  going/'  said  Madame,  half  to 


Concert 


64 


1Rose  ant)  Stiver 


perfect 

flOanners 


herself,  "and  decide  to  take  me  along,  I  hope 
they  '11  give  me  sufficient  time  to  pack  things 
decently." 

"Would  the  Colonel  go,  if  you  went  ?  " 

"  I  hardly  think  so.  It  would  n't  be  quite  so 
proper." 

"I  don't  understand,"  remarked  Isabel, 
wrinkling  her  pretty  brows. 

"  I  don't  either,"  Madame  replied,  confiden 
tially.  "  However,  I  've  lived  long  enough  to 
learn  that  the  conventions  of  society  are  all  in 
the  interests  of  morality.  If  you  're  conven 
tional,  you  '11  be  good,  in  a  negative  sense,  of 
course." 

"How  do  you  mean,  Aunt  Francesca?" 

"  Perfect  manners  are  diametrically  opposed 
to  crime.  For  instance,  it  is  very  bad  form  for 
a  man  to  shoot  a  lady,  or  even  to  write  another 
man's  name  on  a  check  and  cash  it.  It  saves 
trouble  to  be  conventional,  for  you  're  not  al 
ways  explaining  things.  Most  of  the  startling 
items  we  read  in  the  newspapers  are  serious 
lapses  from  conventionality  and  good  man 
ners. 

"The  Crosbys  aren't  very  conventional," 
Isabel  suggested. 

"No,"  smiled  Madame,  "they're  not,  but 
their  manners  proceed  from  the  most  kindly 
and  friendly  instincts,  consequently  they're 
seldom  in  error,  essentially." 

"They  have  lots  of  money,  have  n't  they?" 


En  Hfternoon  Call 


"  I  have  sometimes  thought  that  the  Cros 
bys  had  more  than  their  age  and  social  train 
ing  fitted  them  to  use  wisely,  but  I  've  never 
known  them  to  go  far  astray.  They  've  done 
foolish  things,  but  I  've  never  known  either  to 
do  a  wrong  or  selfish  thing.  Money  is  a  terri 
ble  test  of  character,  but  I  think  the  twins  will 
survive  it." 

"  I  suppose  they  've  done  lots  of  funny  things 
with  it." 

Madame's  eyes  danced  and  little  smiles 
wrinkled  the  corners  of  her  mouth.  "On  the 
Fourth  of  July,  last  year,  they  presented  every 
orphan  in  the  Orphans'  Home  with  two  dollars' 
worth  of  fireworks,  carefully  chosen.  Of  course 
the  inevitable  happened  and  the  orphans  man 
aged  to  set  fire  to  the  home,  but,  after  two  hours 
of  hard  work,  the  place  was  saved.  Some  of 
the  children  were  slightly  injured  during  the 
celebration,  but  that  did  n't  matter,  because 
as  Juliet  said,  they  'd  had  a  good  time,  anyway, 
and  it  would  give  them  something  to  talk 
about  in  years  to  come." 

"It  would  have  been  better  to  spend  the 
money  on  shoes,  would  n't  it  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  my  dear.  The  finest  gift  in 
the  world  is  pleasure.  Sometimes  I  think  it 's 
better  to  feed  the  soul  and  let  the  body  fast. 
There  is  a  time  in  life  when  one  brief  sky-rocket 
can  produce  more  joy  than  ten  pairs  of  shoes." 

Isabel  smiled  and  glanced  at  Madame  Ber- 


jftneet 
(Sift 


66 


®R>  TCose  ant>  Silver 


Clover 
jfieft 


nard's  lavender  satin  slipper.  The  old  lady 
laughed  and  the  soft  colour  came  into  her  pretty 
face. 

"  I  frankly  admit  that  I  've  passed  it,"  she 
said.  "  Better  one  pair  of  shoes  than  ten  sky 
rockets,  if  the  shoes  are  the  sort  I  like." 

"Do  they  come  of  ten?"  queried  Isabel,  re 
verting  to  the  subject  of  the  twins. 

"  Not  as  often  as  I  'd  like  to  have  them,  but 
it  does  n't  do  to  urge  them.  I  can  only  keep 
my  windows  open  and  let  the  wind  from  the 
clover  field  blow  in  as  it  will." 

"  Do  they  live  near  a  clover  field  ?  "  inquired 
Isabel,  perplexed. 

"No,  but  they  remind  me  of  it  —  they're 
so  breezy  and  wholesome,  so  free  and  untram 
melled,  and,  at  heart,  so  sweet." 

"  I  hope  they  '11  come  again  soon." 

"So  do  I,  for  I  don't  want  you  to  be  lonely, 
Isabel.  It  was  good  of  your  mother  to  let  you 
come." 

"Mamma  does  n't  care  what  I  do,"  observed 
Isabel,  placidly.  "She's  always  busy." 

Madame  Bernard  checked  the  sharp  retort 
that  rose  to  her  lips.  What  Isabel  had  said 
was  quite  true.  Mrs.  Ross  was  so  interested  in 
what  she  called  "The  New  Thought"  and  "The 
Higher  World  Service"  that  she  had  neither 
time  nor  inclination  for  the  old  thought  and 
simple  service  that  make  —  and  keep  —  a  home. 

From  the  time  she  could  dress  herself  and  put 


En  Htternoon  Call 


67 


up  her  own  hair,  Isabel  had  been  left  much  to 
herself.  Her  mother  supplied  her  liberally 
with  money  for  clothes  and  considered  that  her 
duty  to  her  daughter  ended  there.  They  lived 
in  an  apartment  hotel  and  had  their  coffee 
served  in  their  rooms  in  the  morning.  After 
that,  Isabel  was  left  to  her  own  devices,  for 
committees  and  directors'  meetings  without 
number  claimed  her  mother. 

More  often  than  not,  Isabel  dined  alone  in  the 
big  dining-room  downstairs,  and  spent  a  lonely 
evening  with  a  novel  and  a  box  of  chocolates. 
On  pleasant  days,  she  amused  herself  by  going 
through  the  shops  and  to  the  matine'e.  She 
did  not  make  friends  easily  and  the  splendid 
isolation  common  to  hotels  and  desert  islands 
left  her  stranded,  socially.  She  had  been  very 
glad  to  accept  Aunt  Francesca's  invitation, 
and  the  mother,  looking  back  through  her 
years  of  "  world  service"  to  the  quiet  old  house 
and  dream-haunted  garden,  had  thought  it 
would  be  a  good  place  for  Isabel  for  a  time, 
and  had  hoped  she  might  not  find  it  too  dull  to 
endure. 

Madame  Bernard  had  no  patience  with  Mrs. 
Ross.  When  she  had  come  for  a  brief  holiday, 
fifteen  years  before,  bringing  her  child  with 
her,  she  had  just  begun  to  be  influenced  by  the 
modern  feminine  unrest.  Later  she  had  de 
finitely  allied  herself  with  those  whose  mission 
it  is  to  emancipate  Woman  —  with  a  capital  W 


68  vyiv  Ktose  ant)  Stiver 


1  Ipas&ion 

for 
Clotbes 


— from  her  chains,  forgetting  that  these  are 
of  her  own  forging,  and  anchor  her  to  the  eter 
nal  verities  of  earth  and  heaven. 

A  single  swift  stroke  had  freed  Mrs.  Ross 
from  her  own  "bondage."  Isabel's  father  had 
died,  while  her  mother  was  out  upon  a  lec 
turing  tour — in  a  hotel,  which  is  the  most 
miserable  place  in  the  world  to  die  in.  The 
housekeeper  and  chambermaids  had  befriended 
Isabel  until  the  tour  came  to  its  triumphant 
conclusion.  Mrs.  Ross  had  seemed  to  consider 
the  whole  affair  a  kindly  and  appropriate 
recognition  of  her  abilities,  on  the  part  of  Provi 
dence.  She  attempted  to  fit  Isabel  for  the 
duties  of  a  private  secretary,  but  failed  miser 
ably,  and,  greatly  to  Isabel's  relief,  gave  up 
the  idea. 

Madame  Bernard  had  looked  forward  to 
Isabel's  visit  with  a  certain  apprehension,  re 
membering  Mrs.  Ross's  unbecoming  gowns  and 
careless  coiffures.  But  the  girl's  passion  for 
clothes,  amounting  almost  to  a  complete  "re 
version  to  type/'  had  at  once  relieved  and 
alarmed  her.  "  If  I  can  strike  a  balance  for 
her/'  she  had  said  to  herself  in  a  certain  mid 
night  musing/'  I  shall  do  very  well/' 

As  yet,  however,  Isabel  had  failed  to  "bal 
ance."  She  dressed  for  morning  and  luncheon 
and  afternoon,  and  again  for  dinner,  changing 
to  street  gowns  when  necessary  and  doing  her 
hair  in  a  different  way  for  each  gown.  Still, 


Hn  Hfternoon  Gail 


as  Rose  had  said,  she  "suited  herself,"  for 
she  was  always  immaculate,  beautifully  clad, 
and  a  joy  to  behold. 

Madame  Bernard  greatly  approved  of  the 
lovely  white  wool  house  gown  Isabel  was  wear 
ing.  She  had  no  fault  to  find  with  the  girl's 
taste,  but  she  wished  to  subordinate,  as  it 
were,  the  thing  to  the  spirit;  the  temple  to  the 
purpose  for  which  it  was  made. 

Isabel  smiled  at  her  sweetly  as  she  folded 
up  her  work — a  little  uncomprehending  smile. 
"Are  you  going  away  now  for  your  'forty 
winks/  Aunt  Francesca?" 

"Yes,  my  dear.  Can  you  amuse  yourself 
for  an  hour  or  so  without  playing  upon  the 
piano?" 

"Certainly.  I  didn't  know  that  you  and 
Cousin  Rose  were  asleep  yesterday,  or  I 
would  n't  have  played/' 

"Of  course  not."  Madame  leaned  over  her 
and  stroked  the  dark  hair,  waved  and  coiled 
in  quite  the  latest  fashion.  "There  are  plenty 
of  books  and  magazines  in  the  library." 

Madame  went  upstairs,  followed  at  a  re 
spectful  distance  by  Mr.  Boffin,  waving  his 
plumed  tail.  He,  too,  took  his  afternoon  nap, 
curled  up  cosily  upon  the  silken  quilt  at  the 
foot  of  his  mistress's  couch.  In  the  room  ad 
joining,  Rose  rested  for  an  hour  also,  though 
she  usually  spent  the  time  with  a  book. 

Left  to  herself,  Isabel  walked  back  and  forth 


Hfternoon 
flaps 


7° 


an&  Stiver 


idly,  greatly  allured  by  the  forbidden  piano. 
^e  l°°ked  over»  carelessly,  the  pile  of  violin 
music  Allison  had  left  there.  Some  of  the 
sheets  were  torn  and  had  been  pasted  to 
gether,  all  were  marked  in  pencil  with  hiero 
glyphics,  and  most  of  them  were  stamped,  in 
purple,  "Allison  Kent,"  with  a  Berlin  or  Paris 
address  written  in  below. 

Isabel  had  met  very  few  men,  in  the  course 
of  her  twenty  years.  For  this  reason,  possibly, 
she  remembered  every  detail  of  the  two  weeks 
she  had  spent  at  Aunt  Francesca's  and  the 
hours  with  Allison,  on  the  veranda,  when  he 
chose  to  amuse  himself  with  the  pretty,  credu 
lous  child.  It  seemed  odd  to  have  him  coming 
to  the  house  again,  though,  unless  he  came  to 
dinner,  he  usually  spent  the  time  playing,  to 
Rose's  accompaniment.  She  had  not  seen 
him  alone. 

She  surveyed  herself  in  the  long,  gilt-framed 
mirror,  and  was  well  pleased  with  the  image 
of  ycuth  and  beauty  the  mirror  gave  back. 
The  bell  rang  and  she  pinned  up  a  stray  lock 
carefully.  It  was  probably  someone  to  see 
Aunt  Francesca,  but  there  was  a  pleasing 
doubt.  It  might  be  the  twins,  though  she 
had  not  returned  their  call. 

Presently  Allison  came  in,  his  cheeks  glowing 
from  his  long  walk  in  the  cold.  "Silver  Girl," 
he  smiled,  "where  are  the  spangles,  and  are 
you  alone?  " 


Hn  Htternoon  Call 


"The  spangles  are  upstairs  waiting  for 
candlelight,"  answered  Isabel,  as  he  took  her 
small,  cool  hand,  "and  I  'm  very  much  alone — 
or  was." 

"Where  are  the  others?" 

"Taking  naps." 

"  I  hope  I  have  n't  tired  Rose  out,"  said 
Allison,  offering  Isabel  a  chair.  He  had  un 
consciously  dropped  the  prefix  of  "Cousin." 
"We  've  been  working  hard  lately." 

"  Is  she  going  with  you  on  your  tour?" 

"  I  don't  know.  I  wish  she  could  go,  but  I 
have  n't  the  heart  to  drag  father  or  Aunt 
Francesca  along  with  us,  and  otherwise, 
it  would  be — well,  unconventional,  you  know. 
The  conventions  make  me  dead  tired,"  he 
added,  with  evident  sincerity. 

"And  yet,"  said  Isabel,  looking  into  the 
fire,  "  they  are  all  in  the  interests  of  morality. 
If  you  're  conventional,  you  '11  be  good, 
negatively.  It  is  n't  good  manners  for  a  man 
to  shoot  a  lady  or  to  sign  a  check  with  another 
man's  name  and  get  it  cashed.  If  you  're 
conventional,  you  're  not  always  explaining 
things." 

"Very  true,"  laughed  Allison,  "but  some 
times  "the  greatest  good  for  the  greatest 
number  bears  heavily  upon  the  few." 

"Of  course,"  Isabel  agreed,  after  a  moment's 
pause.  "  Your  friends,  the  Crosby  twins,  have 
called,"  she  continued. 


BHteon 

S>cop0  In 


IRose  ant)  Stiver 


Surprises 


"Really?"  Allison  asked,  with  interest. 
"  How  do  you  like  them  ?  " 

"  I  wish  they  'd  come  often,"  she  smiled. 
"They  remind  me  of  a  field  of  red  clover, 
they  're  so  breezy  and  so  wholesome." 

"  I  must  hunt  'em  up,"  he  returned,  absently. 
"They  used  to  be  regular  little  devils.  It 's  a 
shame  for  them  to  have  all  that  money." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  they  '11  waste  it.  They  don't 
know  how  to  use  it." 

"  Perhaps  they  do,  in  a  way.  One  Fourth 
of  July  they  gave  every  orphan  in  the  Orphans' 
Home  two  dollars'  worth  of  fireworks.  Any 
body  else  would  have  wasted  the  money  on 
shoes,  or  hats." 

"  I  see  you  have  n't  grown  up.  Would  you 
rather  have  fireworks  than  clothes  ?  " 

"There  is  a  time  in  life  when  one  sky-rocket 
can  give  more  pleasure  than  a  pair  of  shoes, 
and  the  gift  of  pleasure  is  the  finest  gift  in  the 
world." 

Allison  was  agreeably  surprised,  for  hitherto 
Isabel's  conversation  had  consisted  mainly  of 
monosyllables  and  platitudes,  or  the  hesitating 
echo  of  someone's  else  opinion.  Now  he  per 
ceived  that  it  was  shyness;  that  Isabel  had 
a  mind  of  her  own,  and  an  unusual  mind,  at 
that.  He  looked  at  her  quickly  and  the  colour 
bloomed  upon  her  pale,  cold  face. 

"Tell   me,  little  playmate,  what   have  the 


En  Hfternoon  Call 


73 


years  done  for  you  since  you  went  out  and 
pulled  up  the  rose  bushes  to  find  the  scent 
bottles?" 

"Nothing,"  she  answered,  not  knowing  what 
else  to  say. 

"Still  looking  for  the  unattainable?" 

"  Yes,  if  you  like  to  put  it  that  way." 

"Where's  your  mother?" 

"Out  lecturing." 

"What  about?" 

"The  Bloodless  Revolution,  or  the  Gradual 
Emancipation  of  Woman,"  she  repeated, 
parrot-like. 

"  Her  work  must  keep  her  away  from  home 
a  great  deal,"  he  ventured,  after  a  pause. 

"  Yes.     I  seldom  see  her." 

"  You  must  be  lonely." 

She  turned  her  dark  eyes  to  his.  "  I  live  in 
a  hotel,"  she  said. 

In  the  simple  answer,  Allison  saw  an  un 
measured  loneliness,  coupled  with  a  certain 
loyalty  to  her  mother.  He  changed  the  sub- 
ject. 

"You  like  it  here,  don't  you?" 

"  Yes,  indeed.  Aunt  Francesca  is  lovely  and 
so  is  Cousin  Rose.  I  wish,"  she  went  on,  with 
a  little  sigh  as  she  glanced  about  the  comfort 
able  room,  "that  I  could  always  stay  here." 
The  child-like  appeal  in  her  tone  set  Allison's 
heart  to  beating  a  little  faster. 

"  I   wish  you   could,"   he  said.    Remorse- 


•loneliness 
and 


74 


IRose  anfc  Silver 


©nlv  a 
CbilO 


fully,  he  remembered  the  long  hours  he 
had  spent  with  Rose  at  the  piano,  happily 
oblivious  of  Isabel. 

"Are  you  fond  of  music  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Yes,  indeed!  I  always  sit  outside  and 
listen  when  you  and  Cousin  Rose  play." 

"Come  in  whenever  you  want  to,"  he 
responded,  warmly. 

"Won't  I  be  in  the  way?  Won't  I  be  a 
bother?" 

"  I  should  say  not.    How  could  you  be  ?  " 

"Then,"  Isabel  smiled,  "I'll  come  some 
times,  if  I  may.  It 's  the  only  pleasure  I  have." 

"That 's  too  bad.  Sometime  we  '11  go  into 
town  to  the  theatre,  just  you  and  I.  Would 
you  like  to  go  ?  " 

"  I  'd  love  to,"  she  answered,  eagerly. 

The  clock  ticked  industriously,  the  fire 
crackled  merrily  upon  the  hearth,  and  the  wind 
howled  outside.  In  the  quiet  room,  Allison 
sat  and  studied  Isabel,  with  the  firelight 
shining  upon  her  face  and  her  white  gown. 
She  seemed  much  younger  than  her  years. 

"You're  only  a  child,"  he  said,  aloud;  "a 
little,  helpless  child." 

"How  long  do  you  think  it  will  be  before 
I  'm  grown  up  ?  " 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  grow  up.  I  can  re 
member  now  just  how  you  looked  the  day  I 
told  you  about  the  scent  bottles.  You  had  on 
a  pink  dress,  with  a  sash  to  match,  pink 


Hn  Hfternoon  Call 


75 


stockings,  little  white  shoes  with  black  buttons, 
and  the  most  fetching  white  sunbonnet. 
Your  hair  was  falling  in  curls  all  round  your 
face  and  it  was  such  a  warm  day  that  the  curls 
clung  to  your  neck  and  annoyed  you.  You 
toddled  over  to  me  and  said:  'Allison,  please 
fix  my 's  turls/  Don't  you  remember?" 

She  smiled  and  said  she  had  forgotten. 
"  But,"  she  added,  truthfully, "  I  've  often  won 
dered  how  I  looked  when  I  was  dressed  up." 

"Then,"  he  continued,  "I  told  you  how 
the  scent  bottles  grew  on  the  roots  of  the 
rose  bushes,  and,  after  I  went  home,  you  went 
and  pulled  up  as  many  as  you  could.  Aunt 
Francesca  was  very  angry  with  me." 

"Yes,  I  remember  that.  I  felt  as  though 
you  were  being  punished  for  my  sins.  It  was 
years  afterward  that  I  saw  I  'd  been  suffi 
ciently  punished  myself.  Look  ! " 

She  leaned  toward  him  and  showed  him  a 
narrow  white  line  on  the  soft  flesh  between  her 
forefinger  and  her  thumb,  extending  back  over 
her  hand. 

"A  thorn,"  she  said.  "I  shall  carry  the 
scar  to  my  dying  day." 

With  a  little  catch  in  his  throat,  Allison 
caught  the  little  hand  and  pressed  it  to  his 
lips.  "  Forgive  me  ! "  he  said. 


B  Uborn 


in 


VI 

Xigbt  on  tbe  Hltar 

COLONEL  KENT  had  gone  away  on  a  short 
\^*  business  trip  and  Allison  was  spending 
his  evenings,  which  otherwise  would  have  been 
lonely,  at  Madame  Bernard's.  After  talk 
ing  for  a  time  with  Aunt  Francesca  and  Isa 
bel,  it  seemed  natural  for  him  to  take  up  his 
violin  and  suggest,  if  only  by  a  half-humorous 
glance,  that  Rose  should  go  to  the  piano. 

Sometimes  they  played  for  their  own  pleasure 
and  sometimes  worked  for  their  own  benefit. 
Neither  Madame  nor  Isabel  minded  hearing 
the  same  thing  a  dozen  times  or  more  in  the 
course  of  an  evening,  for,  as  Madame  said, 
with  a  twinkle  in  her  blue  eyes,  it  made  "a 
pleasant  noise,"  and  Isabel  did  not  trouble 
herself  to  listen. 

Both  Rose  and  Allison  were  among  the  for 
tunate  ones  who  find  joy  in  work.  Rose  was 
so  keenly  interested  in  her  music  that  she  took 
no  count  of  the  hours  spent  at  the  piano, 
and  Allison  fully  appreciated  her.  It  had  been 


OLigbt  on  tbe  Hltar 


77 


a  most  pleasant  surprise  for  him  to  find  a  good 
accompanist  so  near  home. 

The  discouraging  emptiness  of  life  had  myste 
riously  vanished  for  Rose.  Her  restlessness 
disappeared  as  though  by  magic  and  her  in 
definite  hunger  had  been,  in  some  way,  ap 
peased.  She  had  unconsciously  emerged  from 
one  state  into  another,  as  the  tiny  dwellers 
of  the  sea  cast  of?  their  shells.  She  had  a 
sense  of  freedom  and  a  large  vision,  as  of 
dissonances  resolved  into  harmony. 

Clothes,  also,  which,  as  Madame  had  said, 
are  "supposed  to  please  and  satisfy  women," 
had  taken  to  themselves  a  new  significance. 
Rose  had  made  herself  take  heed  of  her  clothes, 
but  she  had  never  had  much  real  interest. 
Now  she  was  glad  of  the  time  she  had  spent 
in  planning  her  gowns,  merely  with  a  view  to 
pleasing  Aunt  Francesca. 

To-night,  she  wore  a  clinging  gown  of  deep 
green  velvet,  with  a  spray  of  green  leaves  in 
her  hair.  Her  only  ornament  was  a  pin  of 
jade,  in  an  Oriental  setting.  Allison  looked 
at  her  admiringly. 

"There 's  something  about  you,"  he  said, 
"that  I  don't  know  just  how  to  express.  I 
have  no  words  for  it,  but,  in  some  way,  you 
seem  to  live  up  to  your  name." 

"How  so?"  Rose  asked,  demurely. 

"Well,  I  've  never  seen  you  wear  anything 
that  a  rose  might  not  wear.  I  've  seen  you  in 


{Unfolding 
of  the 

•Rose 


TCose  an&  Silver 


living  Hip 
to  Det 
•Dame 


red  and  green  and  yellow  and  pink  and  white, 
but  never  in  blue  or  purple,  or  any  of  those 
soft-coloured  things  that  Aunt  Francesca 
wears." 

"That  only  means/'  answered  Rose,  flush 
ing,  "  that  blue  and  grey  and  tan  and  lavender 
are  n't  becoming  to  me." 

"That  is  n't  it,"  Allison  insisted,  "for  you  'd 
be  lovely  in  anything.  You  're  living  up  to 
your  name." 

"Go  on,"  Rose  suggested  mischievously. 
"This  is  getting  interesting." 

"  You  need  n't  laugh.  I  assure  you  that 
men  know  more  about  those  things  than 
they  're  usually  given  credit  for.  Your  jewels 
fit  in  with  the  whole  idea,  too.  That  jade  pin, 
for  instance,  and  your  tourmaline  necklace, 
and  your  ruby  ring,  and  the  topazes  you 
wear  with  yellow,  and  the  faint  scent  of  roses 
that  always  hangs  about  you." 

"What  else?"  she  smiled. 

"Well,  I  had  a  note  from  you  the  other  day. 
It  was  fragrant  with  rose  petals  and  the 
conventionalised  rose,  in  gold  and  white,  that 
was  stamped  in  place  of  a  monogram,  did  n't 
escape  me.  Besides,  here 's  this." 

He  took  from  his  pocket  a  handkerchief  of 
sheerest  linen,  delicately  hemstitched.  In  one 
corner  was  embroidered  a  rose,  in  palest 
shades  of  pink  and  green.  The  delicate, 
elusive  scent  filled  the  room  as  he  shook  it  out. 


%iabt  on  tfoe  Hltat 


79 


"There,"  he  continued,  with  a  laugh.  "  I 
found  it  in  my  violin  case  the  other  day.  I 
don't  know  how  it  came  there,  but  it  was  much 
the  same  as  finding  a  rose  twined  about  the 
strings." 

Aunt  Francesca  was  on  the  other  side  of  the 
room,  by  the  fire.  Her  face,  in  the  firelight, 
was  as  delicate  as  a  bit  of  carved  ivory.  Her 
thoughts  were  far  away — one  could  see  that. 
Isabel  sat  near  her,  apparently  absorbed  in 
a  book,  but,  in  reality,  listening  to  every 
word. 

"I  wish,"  Allison  was  saying,  "that  people 
knew  how  to  live  up  to  themselves.  That 's 
an  awkward  phrase,  but  I  don't  know  of  any 
thing  better.  Even  their  names  don't  fit  'em, 
and  they  get  nicknames." 

"  '  Father  calls  me  William/  "  murmured 
Rose. 

"'And  Mother  calls  me  Will/"  Allison 
went  on.  "That 's  it,  exactly.  See  how  the 
'Margarets'  are  adjusted  to  themselves  by 
their  friends.  Some  are  'Margie*  and  more  of 
'em  are  '  Peggy/  A  '  Margaret '  who  is  allowed 
to  wear  her  full  name  is  very  rare." 

"  I  'm  glad  my  name  can  't  be  changed, 
easily,"  she  said,  thoughtfully. 

"  It  could  be  'Rosie/  with  an  'ie,'  and  if  you 
were  that  sort,  it  would  be.  Take  Aunt  Fran 
cesca,  for  instance.  She  might  be  Trances' 
or  'Fanny*  or  even  'Fran/  but  her  name  suits 


"trabat'0; 

in  a 
flame?" 


8o 


®I&  1Rose  anfc  Silver 


flames 


her,  so  she  gets  the  full  benefit  of  it,  every 
ubat  fit  time/' 

Madame  turned  away  from  the  fire,  with  the 
air  of  one  who  has  been  away  upon  a  long 
journey.  "  Did  I  hear  my  name  ?  Did  some 
one  speak  to  me  ?  " 

"Only  of  you,"  Allison  explained.  "We 
were  talking  of  names  and  nicknames  and 
saying  that  yours  suited  you." 

"  If  it  did  n't,"  observed  Madame  Bernard, 
"  I  'd  change  it.  When  we  get  civilised,  I  be 
lieve  children  will  go  by  number  until  they  get 
old  enough  to  choose  their  own  names.  Fancy 
a  squirming  little  imp  with  a  terrible  temper 
being  saddled  with  the  name  of  'William/  by 
authority  of  Church  and  State.  Except  to  his 
doting  parents,  he  '11  never  be  anything  but 
'Bill/" 

"Does  my  name  fit  me?"  queried  Isabel, 
much  interested. 

"It  would,"  said  Allison,  "if  you  weren't 
quite  so  tall.  Does  my  name  fit  me  ?  " 

He  spoke  to  Madame  Bernard  but  he  looked 
at  Rose.  It  was  the  older  woman  who  an 
swered  him.  "Yes,  of  course  it  does.  Hoyv 
dare  you  ask  me  that  when  I  named  you 
myself?" 

"  I  'd  forgotten,"  Allison  laughed.  "  I  can't 
remember  quite  that  far  back." 

They  began  to  play  once  more  and  Isabel, 
pleading  a  headache,  said  good-night.  She 


Ube  Xfgbt  on  tbe  Hltat 


81 


made  her  farewells  very  prettily  and  there  was 
a  moment's  silence  after  the  door  closed. 

"I'm  afraid,"  said  Madame,  "that  our 
little  girl  is  lonely.  Allison,  can't  you  bestir 
yourself  and  find  some  young  men  to  call 
upon  her  ?  I  can't  think  of  anybody  but  the 
Crosby  twins." 

"What's  the  matter  with  me?"  inquired  Alli 
son,  lightly.  "Am  I  not  calling  ?  And  behold, 
I  give  her  a  headache  and  she  goes  to  bed." 

"  You  're  not  exactly  in  her  phase  of  youth," 
Madame  objected.  "She  's  my  guest  and  she 
has  to  be  entertained." 

"  I  'm  willing  to  do  my  share.  I  '11  take  her 
into  town  to  the  theatre  some  night,  and 
to  supper  afterward,  in  the  most  brilliantly 
lighted  place  I  can  find." 

"That 's  very  nice  of  you,"  responded  Rose, 
with  a  look  of  friendly  appreciation.  "  I 
know  she  would  enjoy  the  bright  lights." 

"We  all  do,  in  certain  moods,"  he  said. 
"Are  you  ready  now?" 

The  voice  of  the  violin  rose  to  heights  of 
ecstasy,  sustained  by  full  chords  in  the  accom 
paniment.  Mingled  with  the  joy  of  it,  like  a 
breath  of  sadness  and  longing,  was  a  theme 
in  minor,  full  of  question  and  heartbreak;  of 
appeal  that  was  almost  prayer.  And  over  it 
all,  as  always,  hovering  like  some  far  light,  was 
the  call  to  which  Rose  answered.  Dumbly, 
she  knew  that  she  must  always  answer  it, 


plane  (or 
Isabel 


82  <S>lfc  IRose  anfc  Silver 


though  she  were  dead  and  the  violin  itself 
mingled  with  her  dust. 

Madame  Bernard,  still  seated  by  the  fire, 
stirred  uneasily.  Something  had  come  into 
her  house  that  vaguely  troubled  her,  because 
she  had  no  part  in  it.  The  air  throbbed  with 
something  vital,  keen,  alive;  the  room  trem 
bled  as  from  invisible  wings  imprisoned. 

Old  dreams  and  memories  came  back  with  a 
rush,  and  the  little  old  lady  sitting  in  the  half 
light  looked  strangely  broken  and  frail.  The 
sound  of  marching  and  the  steady  beat  of  a 
drum  vibrated  through  her  consciousness  and 
the  singing  violin  was  faint  and  far.  She  saw 
again  the  dusty  street,  where  the  blue  column 
went  forward  with  her  Captain  at  the  head,  his 
face  stern  and  cold,  grimly  set  to  some  high 
Purpose  that  meant  only  anguish  for  her. 
The  picture  above  the  mantel,  seen  dimly 
through  a  mist,  typified,  to  her,  the  ways  of 
men  and  women  since  the  world  began — the 
young  knight  riding  forward  in  his  quest  for 
the  Grail,  already  forgetting  what  lay  behind, 
while  the  woman  knelt,  waiting,  waiting,  wait 
ing,  as  women  always  have  and  always  must. 

At  last  the  music  reached  its  end  in  a  low 
chord  that  was  at  once  a  question  and  a  call. 
Madame  rose,  about  to  say  good-night,  and  go 
up-stairs  where  she  might  be  alone.  On  the 
instant  she  paused.  Her  heart  waited  almost 
imperceptibly,  then  resumed  its  beat. 


Ube  Xigbt  on  tbe  Hltar 


Still  holding  the  violin,  Allison  was  looking 
at  Rose.  Subconsciously,  Madame  noted  his 
tall  straight  figure,  his  broad  well-set  shoul 
ders,  his  boyish  face,  and  his  big  brown  eyes. 
But  Rose  had  illumined  as  from  some  inward 
light;  her  lovely  face  was  transfigured  into  a 
beauty  beyond  all  words. 

Francesca  slipped  out  without  speaking  and 
went,  unheard,  to  her  own  room.  She  felt 
guilty  because  she  had  discerned  something  of 
which  Rose  herself  was  as  yet  entirely  uncon 
scious.  With  the  instinctive  sex-loyalty  that 
distinguishes  fine  women  from  the  other  sort, 
Madame  hoped  that  Allison  did  not  know. 

"And  so,"  she  said  to  herself,  "Love  has 
come  back  to  my  house,  after  many  years  of 
absence.  I  wonder  if  he  cares?  He  must,  oh, 
he  must!"  Francesca  had  no  selfish  thought 
of  her  own  loneliness,  if  her  Rose  should  go 
away.  Though  her  own  heart  was  forever  in 
the  keeping  of  a  distant  grave,  she  could  still 
be  glad  of  another's  joy. 

Rose  turned  away  from  the  piano  and  Alli 
son  put  his  violin  into  the  case.  "It's  late," 
he  said,  regretfully,  "and  you  must  be  tired." 

"Perhaps  I  am,  but  I  don't  know  it." 

"  You  respond  so  fully  to  the  music  that  it  is 
a  great  pleasure  to  play  with  you.  I  wish  I 
could  always  have  you  as  my  accompanist." 

"I  do,  too,"  murmured  Rose,  turning  her 
face  away.  The  deep  colour  mounted  to  the 


Hn 

fllumfnefc 

face 


anfc  S  ilver 


roots  of  her  hair  and  he  studied  her  imperson 
ally,  as  he  would  have  studied  any  other  lovely 
thing. 

"Why?"  he  began,  then  laughed. 

"Why  what  ?"  asked  Rose,  quickly. 

"I  was  about  to  ask  you  a  very  foolish 
question." 

"Don't  hesitate,"  she  said.  "Most  ques 
tions  are  foolish." 

"This  is  worse — it 's  idiotic.  I  was  going 
to  ask  you  why  you  had  n't  married." 

With  a  sharp  stab  at  the  heart,  Rose  noted 
the  past  tense.  "Why  haven't  you?"  she 
queried,  forcing  a  smile. 

"There  is  only  one  answer  to  that  question, 
and  yet  people  keep  on  asking  it.  They  might 
as  well  ask  why  you  don't  buy  an  automobile." 

"Well?"  continued  Rose,  inquiringly. 

"Because  'the  not  impossible  she,'  or  'he/ 
has  n't  come,  that 's  all." 

"  Perhaps  only  one  knows,"  she  suggested. 

"No,"  replied  Allison,  "in  any  true  mating, 
they  both  know — they  must." 

There  was  a  long  pause.  A  smouldering  log, 
in  the  fireplace,  broke  and  fell  into  the  embers. 
The  dying  flame  took  new  life  and  the  warm 
glow  filled  the  room. 

"Is  that  why  people  don' t  buy  automobiles  ?  " 
queried  Rose,  chiefly  because  she  did  not  know 
what  else  to  say. 

"The  answer  to  that  is  that  they  do." 


Ube  %i0bt  on  tbe  Hltar 


"Sounds  as  if  you  might  have  taken  it 
from  Alice  in  Wonderland','  she  commented. 
"Maybe  they've  had  to  give  each  other  up," 
she  concluded,  enigmatically. 

"  People  who  will  give  each  other  up  should 
be  obliged  to  do  it,"  he  returned.  "May  I 
leave  my  violin  here ?  I' 11  be  coming  again  so 
soon." 

"  Surely.     I  hope  you  will." 

"Good-night."  He  took  her  hand  for  a 
moment,  in  his  warm,  steady  clasp,  and 
subtly,  Rose  answered  to  the  man — not  the 
violin.  She  was  deathly  white  when  the 
door  closed,  and  she  trembled  all  the  way 
up-stairs. 

When  she  saw  herself  in  the  mirror,  she  was 
startled,  for,  in  her  ghostly  pallor,  her  deep 
eyes  burned  like  stars.  She  knew,  now. 
The  woman  who  had  so  hungered  for  Life  had 
suddenly  come  face  to  face  with  its  utmost 
wonder;  its  highest  gift  of  joy — or  pain. 


life's 

TJdon&er 


The  heart  of  a  man  is  divided  into  many 
compartments,  mostly  isolated.  Sometimes 
there  is  a  door  between  two  of  them,  or  even 
three  may  be  joined,  but  usually,  each  one  is 
complete  in  itself.  Within  the  different  cham 
bers  his  soul  sojourns  as  it  will,  since  immea 
surably  beyond  woman,  he  possesses  the  power 
of  detachment,  of  intermittence. 


86 


©U>  IRose  anfc  Stiver 


Ube  fceart 

of  a 
Udoman 


Once  in  a  lifetime,  possibly,  under  the  in 
fluence  of  some  sweeping  passion,  all  the  doors 
are  flung  wide  and  the  one  beloved  woman  may 
enter  in.  Yet  she  is  wise,  with  the  wisdom 
of  the  Sphinx,  if  she  refuses  to  go.  Let  her  say 
to  him:  "Close  all  these  doors,  except  that 
which  bears  my  name.  In  that  chamber  and 
in  that  alone,  we  shall  dwell  together/'  For, 
with  these  words,  the  memories  housed  in  the 
other  chambers  crumble  to  dust  and  ashes, 
blown  only  by  vagrant  winds  of  Fate. 

In  the  heart  of  a  woman  there  are  few 
chambers  and  still  fewer  doors.  Instead  of 
business-like  compartments,  neatly  labelled, 
there  are  long,  labyrinthine  passages,  all  open 
ing  into  one  another  and  inextricably  bound 
together.  To  shut  out  one,  or  even  part  of 
one,  requires  the  building  of  a  wall,  but  it 
takes  a  long  time  and  the  barrier  is  never  firm. 

At  a  single  strain  of  music,  the  scent  of  a 
flower,  or  even  one  glimpse  of  a  path  of  moon 
light  lying  fair  upon  a  Summer  sea,  the  barriers 
crumble  and  fall.  Through  the  long  corridors 
the  ghosts  of  the  past  walk  unforbidden, 
hindered  only  by  broken  promises,  dead 
hopes,  and  dream-dust. 

Even  while  the  petals  of  long-dead  roses 
rustle  through  the  winding  passages,  where 
the  windows  are  hung  with  cobwebs,  greyed 
at  last  from  iridescence  to  despairing  shadows,  a 
barrier  may  fall  at  the  sound  of  a  talismanic 


Ube  SltQbt  on  tbe  Hitar 


name,  for  the  hands  of  women  are  small  and 
slow  to  build  and  the  hearts  of  women  are 
tender  beyond  all  words. 

Hidden  in  the  centre  of  the  labyrinth  is  one 
small  secret  chamber,  and  the  door  may  open 
only  at  the  touch  of  one  other  hand.  The 
woman  herself  may  go  into  it  for  peace  and 
sanctuary,  when  the  world  goes  wrong,  but 
always  alone,  until  the  great  day  comes  when 
two  may  enter  it  together. 

As  Theseus  carried  the  thread  of  Ariadne 
through  the  labyrinth  of  Crete,  there  are  many 
who  attempt  to  find  the  secret  chamber,  but 
vainly,  for  the  thread  will  always  break  in  the 
wrong  heart. 

When  the  door  is  opened,  at  last,  by  the  one 
who  has  made  his  way  through  the  devious 
passages,  there  is  so  little  to  be  seen  that  some 
times  even  the  man  himself  laughs  the  woman 
to  scorn  and  despoils  her  of  her  few  treasures. 

The  secret  chamber  is  only  a  bare,  white 
room,  where  is  erected  the  high  altar  of  her 
soul,  served  through  life,  by  her  own  faith. 
Upon  the  altar  burns  steadfastly  the  one  light, 
waiting  for  him  who  at  last  has  come  and  con 
secrated  in  his  name.  The  door  of  the  sanc 
tuary  is  rock-ribbed  and  heavy,  and  he  who 
has  not  the  key  may  beat  and  call  in  vain, 
while  within,  unheeding,  the  woman  guards 
her  light. 

Pitifully   often    the    man    does    not    care. 


Secret 
Cbambetr 


88 


IRose  anfc  Silver 


TTbe  JDoor 
<S>pene& 


Sometimes  he  does  not  even  suspect  that  he  has 
been  admitted  into  the  inmost  sanctuary  of  her 
heart,  for  there  are  men  who  may  never  know 
what  sanctuary  means,  nor  what  the  opening 
of  the  door  has  cost.  But  the  man  who  is 
worthy  will  kneel  at  the  altar  for  a  moment, 
with  the  woman  beside  him,  and  thereafter, 
when  the  outside  world  has  been  cruel  to 
him,  he  may  go  in  sometimes,  with  her,  to 
warm  his  hands  at  those  divine  fires  and 
kindle  his  failing  courage  anew. 

When  the  sanctuary  is  not  profaned  by  him 
who  has  come  hither,  its  blessedness  is  increased 
ten-fold;  it  takes  on  a  certain  divinity  by  being 
shared,  and  thereafter,  they  serve  the  light 
together. 

And  yet,  through  woman's  eager  trustful 
ness,  the  man  who  opens  the  door  is  not  always 
the  one  divinely- appointed  to  open  it.  Some 
times  the  light  fails  and  the  woman,  weeping 
in  the  darkness,  is  left  alone  in  her  profaned 
temple,  never  to  open  its  door  again,  or,  after 
many  years,  to  set  another  light  high  upon  the 
altar,  and,  in  the  deepening  shadows,  pray. 

So,  because  the  door  had  never  been  opened, 
and  because  she  knew  the  man  had  come  at 
last  who  might  enter  the  sanctuary  with  her, 
Rose  lifted  her  ever-burning  light  that  night 
to  the  high  altar  of  her  soul,  and  set  herself 
to  wait  until  he  should  find  his  way  there. 


T 


VII 

fatber  ant>  Son 


Xooftftu 

HE    house    seemed    very    quiet,    though 


steadily,  from  a  distant  upper  room,  came 
the  sound  of  a  violin.  For  more  than  an  hour, 
Allison  had  worked  continuously  at  one  diffi 
cult  phrase.  Colonel  Kent  smiled  whimsically 
as  he  sat  in  the  library,  thinking  that,  by  this 
time,  he  could  almost  play  it  himself. 

Looking  back  over  the  thirty  years,  he 
could  see  where  he  had  made  mistakes  in 
moulding  the  human  clay  entrusted  to  his  care, 
yet,  in  the  end,  the  mistakes  had  not  mattered. 
Back  in  the  beginning,  he  had  formulated 
certain  cherished  ideals  for  his  son,  and  had 
worked  steadily  toward  them,  unmindful  of 
occasional  difficulties  and  even  failures. 

Against  his  own  judgment,  he  had  yielded 
to  Francesca  in  the  choice  of  the  boy's  career. 
"Look  at  his  hands,"  she  had  said.  "You 
could  n't  put  hands  like  his  at  work  in  an  office. 
If  he  is  n't  meant  for  music,  we  '11  find  it  out 
soon  enough." 


89 


IRose  ant)  Stiver 


like  a 
tRiver 


But  Allison  had  gone  on,  happily,  along  the 
chosen  path,  with  never  a  question  or  doubt 
of  his  ultimate  success.  Just  now,  the  Colonel 
was  deeply  grateful  to  Francesca,  for  the  years 
abroad  had  been  pleasant  ones,  and  would  have 
been  wholly  impossible  had  Allison  been  work 
ing  in  an  office. 

With  a  sigh,  he  began  to  pace  back  and 
forth  through  the  hall,  his  hands  in  his  pockets, 
and  his  grey  head  bowed.  Before  him  was 
his  own  portrait,  in  uniform,  his  hand  upon  his 
sword.  The  sword  itself,  hanging  in  a  corner 
of  the  hall,  was  dull  and  lifeless  now.  He  had 
a  curious  sense  that  his  work  was  done. 

The  tiny  stream,  rising  from  some  cool  pool 
among  the  mountains,  is  not  unlike  man's 
own  beginning,  for,  at  first,  it  gives  no  hint 
of  its  boundless  possibilities.  Grown  to  a 
river,  taking  to  itself  the  water  from  a  thou 
sand  secret  channels,  it  leaps  down  the  moun 
tain,  heedless  of  rocky  barriers,  with  all  the 
joy  of  lusty  youth. 

The  river  itself  portrays  humanity  precisely, 
with  its  tortuous  windings,  its  accumulation 
of  driftwood,  its  unsuspected  depths,  and  its 
crystalline  shallows,  singing  in  the  Summer  sun. 
Barriers  may  be  built  across  its  path,  but  they 
bring  only  power,  as  the  conquering  of  an  ob 
stacle  is  always  sure  to  do.  Sometimes  when 
the  rocks  and  stone-clad  hills  loom  large  ahead, 
and  eternity  itself  would  be  needed  to  carve  a 


jfatber  an&  Son 


91 


passage,  there  is  an  easy  way  arc  and.  The 
discovery  of  it  makes  the  river  sing  with  glad 
ness  and  turns  the  murmurous  deeps  to  living 
water,  bright  with  ripples  and  foam. 

Ultimately,  too,  in  spite  of  rocks  and  drift 
wood,  of  endless  seeking  for  a  path,  of  tempes 
tuous  nights  and  days  of  ice  and  snow,  man 
and  the  river  reach  the  eternal  sea,  to  be  merged 
forever  with  the  Everlasting. 

Upstairs  the  music  ceased.  A  door  opened, 
then  closed,  and  presently  Allison  came  down, 
rubbing  his  hands.  "It's  a  little  cool  up 
there,"  he  said,  "and  yet,  by  the  calendar, 
it  's  Spring.  I  wish  this  climate  could  be 
averaged  up." 

"  Even  then,  we  would  n't  be  satisfied,"  the 
Colonel  returned.  "Who  wants  all  his  days  to 
be  alike?" 

"Nobody.  Still,  it's  a  bit  trying  to  freeze 
your  nose  one  day  and  be  obliged  to  keep  all  the 
windows  open  the  next." 

There  was  a  long  pause.  The  Colonel  tapped 
his  fingers  restlessly  upon  the  library  table. 
Allison  went  over  to  the  open  fire  and  stood 
with  his  back  to  it,  clasping  his  hands  behind 
him.  "What  have  you  been  doing  all  the 
morning,  Dad  ?" 

"Nothing.    Just  sitting  here,  thinking." 

"  Pretty  hopeless  occupation  unless  you  have 
something  in  particular  to  think  about." 


IRose  anb  Silver 


Cbatting 
Uogctbet 


"  It 's  better  to  have  nothing  to  think  about 
than  to  be  obliged  to  think  of  something  un 
pleasant,  is  n't  it  ?" 

"  I  don't  know/'  Allison  responded,  smother 
ing  a  yawn.  "Almost  anything  is  better  than 
being  bored." 

"  You  're  not  bored,  are  you  ? "  asked  the 
Colonel,  quickly. 

"  Far  from  it,  but  I  have  my  work.  I  was 
thinking  of  you." 

"  I  can  work,  too,"  the  Colonel  replied.  "  I 
think  as  soon  as  the  ground  thaws  out,  I  '11 
make  a  garden.  A  floral  catalogue  came  yes 
terday  and  the  pictures  are  very  inspiring." 

"Does  it  give  any  directions  for  distinguish 
ing  between  the  flowers  and  weeds  ?" 

"No,"  laughed  the  Colonel,  "but  I've 
thought  of  trying  the  ingenious  plan  of  the  man 
who  pulled  up  the  plants  and  carefully  watered 
the  weeds,  expecting  the  usual  contrary  re 
sults." 

Luncheon  was  announced  and  they  went  out 
together,  shivering  at  the  change  in  tempera 
ture  between  the  library  and  the  dining-room, 
where  there  would  be  no  cheerful  open  fire 
until  the  dinner  hour. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  this  afternoon?" 
queried  the  Colonel. 

"Why,  work,  I  suppose — at  least  until  I  get 
too  tired  to  work  any  more." 

"  You  seem  to  believe  in  an  eight-hour  day." 


jfatber  ant)  Son 


93 


Something  in  the  tone  gave  Allison  an  ink 
ling  of  the  fact  that  his  father  was  lonely  and 
restless  in  the  big  house.  When  they  were 
abroad,  he  had  managed  to  occupy  himself 
pleasantly  while  Allison  was  busy,  and,  for  the 
first  time,  the  young  man  wondered  whether 
it  had  been  wise  to  come  back. 

The  loneliness  of  the  great  rooms  was  evi 
dent,  if  one  looked  for  it,  and  the  silence  was 
literally  to  be  felt,  everywhere.  It  is  difficult 
for  two  people  to  be  happy  in  a  large  house; 
they  need  the  cosiness  established  by  walls  not 
too  far  apart,  ceilings  not  too  high,  and  the 
necessary  furniture  not  too  widely  separated. 
A  single  row  of  books,  within  easy  reach,  may 
hint  of  companionship  not  possible  to  the  great 
bookcase  across  a  large  room. 

"I  think,"  said  Allison,  "that  perhaps  this 
house  is  too  large  for  us.  Why  should  we  need 
fifteen  rooms?" 

"We  don't,  but  what's  the  use  of  moving 
again  just  now,  when  we  're  all  settled." 

"It's  no  trouble  to  move,"  returned  the 
young  man. 

"  It  might  be,  if  we  did  it  ourselves.  I  fancy 
that  Miss  Rose  could  give  us  a  few  pointers  on 
the  subject  of  opening  an  old  house." 

"There  may  be  something  in  that,"  admitted 
Allison.  "What  charming  neighbours  they 
are  ! "  he  added,  in  a  burst  of  enthusiasm. 

"Madame    Bernard,"    replied   the   Colonel, 


Silence 


94 


<S>R>  IRose  ant)  Silver 


Crossing 
tbe  Uine 


with  emphasis,  "is  one  of  the  finest  women 
I  have  ever  had  the  good  fortune  to  meet. 
Miss  Rose  is  like  her,  but  I  have  known  only 
one  other  of  the  same  sort." 

"And  the  other  was " 

"Your  mother." 

The  Colonel  pushed  back  his  plate  and  went 
to  the  window.  Beyond  the  mountains,  some 
where  in  "God's  acre,"  was  the  little  sunken 
grave  still  enfolding  a  handful  of  sacred  dust. 
With  a  sudden  throb  of  pain,  Allison  realised, 
for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  that  his  father  was 
an  old  man.  The  fine,  strong  face,  outlined 
clearly  by  the  pitiless  afternoon  sun,  was  deeply 
lined ;  the  broad  shoulders  were  stooped  a  little, 
and  the  serene  eyes  dimned  as  though  by  mist. 
In  the  moment  he  seemed  to  have  crossed  the 
dividing  line  between  maturity  and  age. 

Allison  was  about  to  suggest  that  they  take 
a  walk  after  luncheon,  having  Madame  Ber 
nard's  household  in  mind  as  the  ultimate  ob 
ject,  but,  before  he  could  speak,  the  Colonel 
had  turned  away  from  the  window. 

"Some  day  you  '11  marry,  lad,"  he  said,  in  a 
strange  tone. 

Allison  smiled  and  shrugged  his  shoulders 
doubtfully. 

"And  then,"  the  Colonel  continued,  with  a 
little  catch  in  his  voice,  "  the  house  will  be  none 
too  large  for  two — for  you  two." 

Very  rarely,  and  for  a  moment  only,  Allison 


ffatber  ant)  Son  95 


looked  like  his  mother.     For  an  instant  she      B<BOO& 
lived  again  in  her  son's  eyes,  then  vanished. 

"  Dad,"  he  said,  gently,  "  I  'm  sure  you 
would  n't  desert  me  even  if  I  did  marry. 
You  've  stood  by  me  too  long." 

The  stooped  shoulders  straightened  and  the 
Colonel  smiled.  "Do  you  mean  that — if 
you  married,  you  'd  still — want  me?" 

"Most  assuredly." 

"She  would  n't." 

"If  she  didn't,"  returned  Allison,  lightly, 
"  she  would  n't  get  me.  Not  that  I  'm  any 
prize  to  be  wrangled  over  by  the  fair  sex, 
individually  or  collectively,  but  you  and  I 
stand  together,  Dad,  and  don't  you  forget  it." 

The  Colonel  cleared  his  throat,  tried  to  speak, 
then  stopped  abruptly.  "  I  have  been  think 
ing,"  he  continued,  with  a  swift  change  of  mood 
and  subject,  "  that  we  might  manage  a  dinner 
party.  We  're  much  indebted  to  Madame 
Bernard." 

"Good  idea!  I  don't  know  what  sort  of 
party  it  would  prove  to  be,  but,  if  we  did  our 
best,  it  would  be  all  right  with  them.  Any 
how,  Aunt  Francesca  would  give  an  air  to  it." 

"So  would  the  others,  Miss  Rose  especially." 

"I  wonder  why  Aunt  Francesca  didn't 
marry  again,"  mused  Allison. 

"Because  her  heart  is  deep  enough  to  hold 
a  grave." 

"  You  knew  her  husband,  did  n't  you  ?  " 


96 


1Rose  anb  Silver 


"He  was  my  best  friend,"  answered  the 
Colonel,  a  little  sadly.  "How  the  years 
separate  and  destroy,  and  blot  out  the  things 
that  count  for  the  most ! " 

"  I  wonder  how  she  happened  to  be  named 
'Francesca.'  It  isn't  an  American  name." 

"She  wasn't.  Her  name  was  'Mary 
Frances,'  and  he  changed  it  to '  Marie  Fran 
cesca.'  So  she  has  been  'Marie  Francesca' 
ever  since,  though  she  never  uses  the  'Marie/ 
That  was  his  name  for  her." 

"The  change  suits  her  someway.  Queer 
idea  she  has  about  names  fitting  people,  and 
yet  it  is  n't  so  queer,  either,  when  you  come  to 
think  of  it.  Rose  might  have  been  named 
Abigail  or  Jerusha,  yet  I  believe  people  would 
have  found  out  she  was  like  a  rose  and  called 
her  by  her  proper  name." 

Colonel  Kent  flashed  a  quick  glance  at  him, 
but  the  expression  of  his  face  had  not  changed. 
"And  Isabel?"  he  queried,  lightly. 

"  Isabel 's  only  a  kid  and  it  does  n't  matter  so 
much  whether  things  fit  her  or  not.  I  've 
promised  to  take  her  to  the  theatre,"  he  con 
tinued,  irrelevantly,  "because  Aunt  Francesca 
wants  her  guest  to  be  amused.  I  'm  also  com 
missioned  to  find  some  youths  about  twenty 
and  trot  'em  round  for  Isabel's  inspection. 
Do  you  know  of  anybody  ?  " 

"  I  've  seen  only  one  who  might  do.  There  's 
a  lanky  boy  with  unruly  hair  and  an  expansive 


jfatber  an&  Son 


97 


smile  whom  I  've  seen  at  the  post-office  a  time 
or  two.  He  usually  has  a  girl  with  him,  but 
she  may  be  his  sister.  They  look  astonishingly 
alike." 

"  Bet  it 's  the  Crosby  twins.  I  'd  like  to  see 
the  little  devils,  if  they  've  grown  up." 

"They  're  grown  up,  whoever  they  are.  The 
boy  is  almost  as  tall  as  I  am  and  his  sister 
does  n't  lack  much  of  it." 

"  I  must  hunt  'em  up.  They  've  already 
called  on  Isabel,  and  perhaps,  when  she  returns 
the  call,  she  '11  take  me  along." 

"Who  brought  them  up?"  asked  the  Colonel 
idly. 

"They  've  brought  themselves  up,  for  the 
last  five  or  six  years,  and  I  'm  of  the  opinion 
that  they  've  always  done  it." 

"  Let 's  invite  them  to  the  dinner  party." 

Allison's  eyes  danced  at  the  suggestion. 
"  All  right,  but  we'll  have  to  see  'em  first.  They 
may  not  want  to  come." 

"  I  've  often  wondered,"  mused  the  Colo 
nel,  "why  it  is  so  much  more  pleasant  to 
entertain  than  it  is  to  be  entertained.  I  'd 
rather  have  a  guest  any  day  than  to  be 
one." 

"And  yet,"  returned  Allison,  "if  you  are  a 
guest,  you  can  get  away  any  time  you  want  to, 
within  reasonable  limits.  If  you  're  entertain 
ing,  you  've  got  to  keep  it  going  until  they  all 
want  to  go." 


©l&  IRose  ant>  Silver 


"  In  that  case,  it  might  be  better  for  us  if  we 
went  to  Crosbys'." 

"We  can  do  that,  too.  I  think  it  would  be 
fun,  though,  to  have  'em  here.  We  need 
another  man  in  one  sense,  though  not  in 
another." 

"  I  have  frequently  had  occasion  to  observe," 
remarked  the  Colonel,  "that  many  promis 
ing  dinners  are  wholly  spoiled  by  the  idea  that 
there  must  be  an  equal  number  of  men  and 
women.  One  uncongenial  guest  can  ruin  a 
dinner  more  easily  than  a  poor  salad  —  and 
that  is  saying  a  great  deal." 

"  Your  salad  days  are  n't  over  yet,  evi 
dently." 

"  I  hope  not." 

The  hour  of  talk  had  done  the  Colonel  a  great 
deal  of  good,  and  he  was  quite  himself  again. 
Some  new  magazines  had  come  in  the  afternoon 
mail  and  lay  on  the  library  table.  He  fin 
gered  the  paper  knife  absently  as  he  tore  off 
the  outer  wrappings  and  threw  them  into  the 
fire. 

"  I  believe  I  '11  go  up  and  work  for  a  couple  of 
hours,"  said  Allison,  "and  then  we'll  go  out 
for  a  walk." 

"All  right,  lad.     I'll  be  ready." 

Even  after  the  strains  of  the  violin  sounded 
faintly  from  upstairs,  accompanied  by  a  rhyth 
mic  tread  as  Allison  walked  to  and  fro, 
Colonel  Kent  did  not  begin  to  cut  the  leaves. 


jfatber  anfc  Son 


99 


Instead,  he  sat  gazing  into  the  fire,  thinking. 
Quite  unconsciously,  for  years,  he  had  been 
carrying  a  heavy  burden — the  fear  that  Allison 
would  marry  and  that  his  marriage  would 
bring  separation.  Now  he  was  greatly  reas 
sured.  "And  yet,"  he  thought,  "there's 
no  telling  what  a  woman  may  do." 

The  sense  that  his  work  was  done  still 
haunted  him,  and,  resolutely,  he  tried  to  push 
it  aside.  "While  there's  life,  there's  work," 
he  said  to  himself.  He  knew,  however,  as  he 
had  not  known  before,  that  Allison  was  past 
the  need  of  his  father,  except  for  companion 
ship. 

The  old  house  seemed  familiar,  yet  as  though 
it  belonged  to  another  life.  He  remembered 
the  building  of  it,  when,  with  a  girl's  golden 
head  upon  his  shoulder,  they  had  studied 
plans  together  far  into  the  night.  As  though 
it  were  yesterday,  their  delight  at  the  real 
beginning  came  back.  There  was  another 
radiant  hour,  when  the  rough  flooring  for  the 
first  story  was  laid,  and,  with  bare  scantlings 
reared,  skeleton-like,  all  around  them,  they 
actually  went  into  their  own  house. 

One  by  one,  through  the  vanished  years,  he 
sought  out  the  links  that  bound  him  to  the  past. 
The  day  the  bride  came  home  from  the  honey 
moon,  and  knelt,  with  him,  upon  the  hearth 
stone,  to  light  their  first  fire  together;  the  day 
she  came  to  him,  smiling,  to  whisper  to  him 


•Uinfcs  vdtb 
tbe  ipaet 


100 


IRose  ant)  Stiver 


TEbe  flDagtc 


the  secret  that  lay  beneath  her  heart;  the  long 
waiting,  half  fearful  and  half  sweet,  then  the 
hours  of  terror  that  made  an  eternity  of  a  night, 
then  the  dawn,  that  brought  the  ultimate, 
unbroken  peace  which  only  God  can  change. 

Over  there,  in  front  of  the  fireplace  in  the 
library,  the  little  mother  had  lain  in  her  last 
sleep.  The  heavy  scent  of  tuberoses,  the  rum 
ble  of  wheels,  the  slow  sound  of  many  feet,  and 
the  tiny,  wailing  cry  that  followed  them  when 
he  and  she  went  out  of  their  house  together  for 
the  last  time — it  all  came  back,  but,  merci 
fully,  without  pain. 

Were  it  not  for  this  divine  forgetting,  few 
of  us  could  bear  life.  One  can  recall  only  the 
fact  of  suffering,  never  the  suffering  itself. 
When  a  sorrow  is  once  healed,  it  leaves  only 
a  tender  memory,  to  come  back,  perhaps,  in 
many  a  twilight  hour,  with  tears  from  which 
the  bitterness  has  been  distilled. 

Slowly,  too,  by  the  wonderful  magic  of  the 
years,  unknown  joys  reveal  themselves  and 
stand  before  us,  as  though  risen  from  the  dead. 
At  such  and  such  a  time,  we  were  happy,  but 
we  did  not  know  it.  In  the  midst  of  sorrow, 
the  joy  comes  back,  not  reproachfully,  but  to 
beckon  us  on,  with  clearer  sight,  to  those  which 
lie  on  the  path  beyond. 

He  remembered,  too,  that  after  the  first 
sharp  agony  of  bereavement  was  over;  when  he 
had  learned  that  even  Death  does  not  deny 


Ifatber  anfc  Son 


101 


Love,  he  had  seemed  to  enter  some  mysterious 
fellowship.  Gradually,  he  became  aware  of 
the  hidden  griefs  of  others,  and  from  many 
unsuspected  sources  came  consolation.  Even 
those  whom  he  had  thought  hard  and  cold 
cherished  some  holy  of  holies — some  sacred 
altar  where  a  bruised  heart  had  been  healed 
and  the  bitterness  taken  away. 

He  had  come  to  see  that  the  world  was  full 
of  kindness;  that  through  the  countless  masks 
of  varying  personalities,  all  hearts  beat  in  per 
fect  unison,  and  that  joy,  in  reality,  is  immortal, 
while  pain  dies  in  a  day. 

"And  yet,"  he  thought,  "how  strange  it  is 
that  life  must  be  nearly  over,  before  one  fully 
learns  to  live." 

The  fire  crackled  cheerily  on  the  hearth,  the 
sunbeams  danced  gaily  through  the  old  house, 
spending  gold-dust  generously  in  corners  that 
were  usually  dark,  and  the  uncut  magazine 
slipped  to  the  floor.  Above,  the  violin  sang 
high  and  clear.  The  Colonel  leaned  back  in  his 
chair  and  closed  his  eyes. 

When  Allison  came  down,  he  was  asleep,  with 
the  peace  of  Heaven  upon  his  face,  and  so 
quiet  that  the  young  man  leaned  over  him,  a 
little  frightened,  to  wait  for  the  next  deep 
breath.  Reassured,  he  did  not  wake  him, 
but  went  for  his  walk  alone. 


Ht  peace 


IO2 


VIII 

gear's  at  tbe  Spring" 

UTSIDE,  in  the  grey  darkness,  the  earth 
was  soft  with  snow.  Upon  the  illimitable 
horizon  beyond  the  mountain  peaks  were 
straying  gleams  of  dawn,  colourless,  but  none 
the  less  surely  a  promise  of  daybreak. 

Rose  had  been  awake  for  some  time,  listening 
to  the  ice-clad  branches  that  clattered  with 
every  passing  breeze.  A  maple  bough,  tapping 
on  her  window  as  ghostly  fingers  might,  had 
first  aroused  her  from  a  medley  of  dreams. 

She  went  to  the  window,  shivering  a  little, 
and,  while  she  stood  there,  watching  the  faint 
glow  in  the  East,  the  wind  changed  in  quality, 
though  it  was  still  cool.  Hints  of  warmth  and 
fragrance  were  indefinably  blended  with  the 
cold,  and  Rose  laughed  as  she  crept  back  to 
bed,  for  she  had  chanced  upon  the  mysterious 
hour  when  the  Weaver  of  the  Seasons  changed 
the  pattern  upon  the  loom. 

Having  raised  another  window  shade,  she 
could  see  the  dawn  from  where  she  lay.  Tints 


"  Ube  Kear  's  at  tbe  Spring 


103 


of  gold  and  amethyst  came  slowly  upon  the 
grey  and  made  the  horizon  delicately  irides 
cent,  like  mother-of-pearl.  Warm  and  soft 
from  the  Southland,  the  first  wind  of  Spring 
danced  merrily  into  Madame  Francesca's 
sleeping  garden,  thrilling  all  the  life  beneath  the 
sod.  With  the  first  beam  of  sun,  the  ice  began 
to  drip  from  the  imprisoned  trees  and  every 
fibre  of  shrub  and  tree  to  quiver  with  aspira 
tion,  as  though  a  clod  should  suddenly  find  a 
soul. 

In  the  watcher's  heart,  too,  had  come 
another  Spring,  for  once  in  time  and  tune  with 
the  outer  world.  The  heart's  seasons  seldom 
coincide  with  the  calendar.  Who  among  us 
has  not  been  made  desolate  beyond  all  words 
upon  some  golden  day  when  the  little  creatures 
of  the  air  and  meadow  were  life  incarnate,  from 
sheer  joy  of  living  ?  Who  among  us  has  not 
come  home,  singing,  when  the  streets  were  al 
most  impassable  with  snow,  or  met  a  friend 
with  a  happy,  smiling  face,  in  the  midst  of  a 
pouring  rain  ? 

The  soul,  too,  has  its  own  hours  of  Winter 
and  Spring.  Gethsemane  and  Calvary  may 
come  to  us  in  the  time  of  roses  and  Easter 
rise  upon  us  in  a  December  night.  How  shall 
we  know,  in  our  own  agony,  of  another's 
gladness,  or,  on  that  blessed  to-morrow  when 
the  struggle  is  over,  help  someone  else  to  bear 
our  own  forgotten  pain  ? 


Ubc 
fteart'8 
Seasons 


104 


IRose  an&  Stiver 


Bwafee  at 
fcast 


True  sympathy  is  possible  only  when  the 
season  of  one  soul  accords  with  that  of  another, 
or  else  when  memory,  divinely  tender,  brings 
back  a  vivid,  scarlet  hour  out  of  grey,  forgotten 
days,  to  enable  us  to  share,  with  another,  his 
own  full  measure  of  sorrow  or  of  joy. 

Ah,  but  the  world  was  awake  at  last!  Jave 
lin-like,  across  a  field  of  melting  snow,  went  a 
flash  of  blue  wings,  and  in  Madame  Francesca's 
own  garden  a  robin  piped  his  cheery  strain  upon 
the  topmost  bough  of  a  dripping  tree. 

The  woman,  too,  was  awake,  in  every  fibre 
of  body  and  soul.  Even  her  finger-tips  seemed 
sentient  and  alive;  her  heart  was  strangely 
lifted,  as  though  by  imprisoned  wings.  She 
had  no  doubt  of  the  ultimate  hour,  when  he 
would  know  also,  yet,  half-afraid,  she  shrank 
from  it,  as  she  would  not  have  shrunk  from 
pain. 

Madame  had  once  remarked  that  civilisa 
tion  must  have  begun  not  earlier  than  nine  in 
the  morning,  or  later  than  noon.  She  had  a 
horror  of  the  early  breakfast,  when  the  family, 
cold,  but  clean,  gathers  itself  around  the  board 
which  only  last  night  was  festive  and  strives 
valiantly  to  be  pleasant.  It  was  almost  an 
axiom  with  her  that  human,  friendly  conver 
sation  was  not  possible  before  nine  in  the 
morning. 

So,  as  there  was  no  one  else  to  be  pleased, 
the  three  women  breakfasted  when  and  where 


gear's  at  tb'e  Spring 


105 


they  chose.  If  Rose  preferred  to  robe  her- 
self  immaculately  in  white  linen  and  have  her 
coffee  in  the  dining-room  at  seven,  she  was  at 
liberty  to  do  so.  If  she  wanted  it  in  her  own 
room,  at  ten,  that  also  was  easily  managed, 
but  this  was  the  only  "movable  feast"  Ma 
dame  would  permit.  Luncheon  and  dinner 
went  precisely  by  tne  clock,  year  in  and  year 
out. 

Too  happy  to  sleep  and  yearning  to  be 
outdoors,  Rose  dressed  quietly  and  tiptoed 
down-stairs.  She  smiled  whimsically  as  the 
heavy  front  door  siammed  behind  her,  wonder 
ing  if  it  would  wake  the  others  and  if  they,  too, 
would  know  that  it  was  Spring. 

Tips  of  green  showed  now  and  then  where  the 
bulbs  were  planted,  and,  down  in  the  wild  gar 
den,  when  she  brushed  aside  the  snow,  Rose 
found  a  blushing  hepatica  in  full  bloom. 
"  How  indiscreet,"  she  thought,  then  added,  to 
herself,  "  but  what  sublime  courage  it  must  take 
to  blossom  now  !" 

The  plump  robin,  whose  winter  had  evi 
dently  been  pleasant,  hopped  about  the  garden 
after  her,  occasionally  seeking  shelter  on  the 
lower  bough  of  a  tree  if  she  turned,  or  came  too 
near.  "Don't  be  afraid,"  she  called,  aloud, 
then  laughed,  as  with  a  farewell  chirp  and  a 
flutter  of  wings,  the  robin  took  himself  beyond 
the  reach  of  further  conversational  liberties. 

Her  pulses  leaped  with  abundant  life;  the 


io6  ®l&  TCose  anfc  Silver 


wet  road  lured  her  eager  feet.  She  went  out, 
leaving  the  gate  open,  and  turned  toward  the 
woods,  where  a  flock  of  wild  geese,  breasting 
the  chill  winds  far  above  the  river,  was  steadily 
cleaving  a  passage  to  the  friendly  North. 

When  she  reached  the  woods,  where  the  white 
birches  stood  like  shy  dryads  among  the  oaks, 
she  heard  once  more  the  robin's  flutelike  call. 
It  was  answered  by  another,  exactly  upon  the 
same  notes,  yet  wholly  different  as  to  quality. 
Presently,  among  the  trees,  she  caught  a 
glimpse  of  a  tall  man,  and  she  paused  for  an 
instant,  frightened.  Then  her  heart  leaped 
and  her  cheeks  burned,  as  she  saw  who  it  was. 

"  Boy ! "  she  called,  clearly.    "  Oh,  Boy  ! " 

Allison  turned,  startled,  then  came  to  her, 
smiling,  hat  in  hand.  "Upon  my  word,"  he 
said.  "  I  did  n't  think  there  was  anyone  else 
mad  enough  to  come  out  at  this  hour." 

"Why  it 's  Spring!    Didn't  you  know?" 

"Yes.  It  came  this  morning  just  before 
sunrise." 

"Were  you  awake?" 

"Yes,  were  you?" 

"Of  course,"  she  answered.  "I  couldn't 
stay  in." 

"Nor  could  I." 

"The  year's  at  the  spring, 
And  day  's  at  the  morn; 
Morning's  at  seven; 
The  hill-side  's  dew-pearled," 


ZTbe  year  's  at  tbe  Spring" 


107 


Rose  quoted.  "You  know  the  rest,  don't 
you?" 

"The  rest  does  n't  matter.  'Morning  waits 
at  the  end  of  the  world — Gypsy,  come  away  !'  " 

"  I  '11  go,"  she  breathed,  her  eyes  fixed  on 
his,  "  anywhere  ! " 

"To  the  river,  then.  The  last  time  I  saw  it, 
ice  and  snow  had  hidden  it  completely." 

The  path  was  narrow  until  they  got  out  of 
the  woods,  so  Rose  went  ahead.  "I  don't 
believe  I  fooled  that  robin  by  whistling  to  him," 
Allison  continued.  "  He  pretended  I  did,  but 
I  believe  he  was  only  trying  to  be  polite." 

"He  was  n't,  if  it  was  the  same  robin  I  saw 
in  our  garden  this  morning.  I  spoke  to  him 
most  pleasantly  and  told  him  not  to  be  afraid 
of  me,  but  he  disappeared  with  a  very  brief, 
chirpy  good-bye." 

"Don't  hurry  so,"  he  said,  as  he  came  up 
beside  her  and  assisted  her  over  a  fallen  tree. 
"We  've  got  the  whole  day,  have  n't  we?" 

"We  have  all  the  time  there  is,"  laughed 
Rose.  "  Everybody  has,  for  that  matter." 

"Have  you  had  your  breakfast?" 

"No,  have  you?" 

"  Far  from  it.  Everybody  was  asleep  when  I 
came  out." 

"Then  you  '11  have  breakfast  with  me,"  she 
said,  quickly. 

"Thank  you,"  he  smiled,  "for  taking  the 
hint." 


io8  ©R>  Ktose  anb  Silver 


»  "But  won't  your  father  miss  you?"  she 

queried,  with  mock  seriousness. 

"He  pays  no  attention  whatever  to  my  ir 
regular  habits,  and  I  think  that 's  one  reason 
why  we  get  on  so  well  together.  It 's  a  wise 
father  who  knows  his  own  child." 

"Especially  if  it  is  a  wise  child,"  she  replied. 
Her  eyes  were  dancing  with  mirth,  a  scarlet 
signal  burned  on  either  cheek,  and  her  parted 
lips  were  crimson.  She  seemed  lovelier  to  him 
than  ever  before. 

"Honestly,  Rose,  you  seem  to  get  prettier 
every  day." 

"Then,"  she  smiled,  "if  I  were  younger,  I 
might  eventually  become  dangerous." 

"Rose " 

"Old  Rose,"  she  interrupted.  The  high 
colour  faded  from  her  face  as  she  spoke  and 
left  her  pale. 

Allison  put  his  hand  on  her  arm  and  stopped. 
"Rose,  please  don't.  You  're  not  a  day  older 
than  I  am." 

"Ten  years,"  she  insisted  stubbornly,  for 
women  are  wont  to  lean  upon  the  knife  that 
stabs  them  and  she  was  in  a  reckless  mood. 
"When  you  're  forty,  I  '11  be  fifty." 

A  shadow  crossed  his  face.  "It  hurts  me, 
someway,  to  have  you  talk  so.  I  don't  know 
how — nor  why." 

In  a  single  swift  surge  her  colour  came  back. 
"All  right,"  she  answered,  quietly,  "hereafter 


Ube  gear's  at  tbe  Spring  " 


109 


I  'm  thirty,  also.  Thanking  you  for  giving  me 
ten  more  years  of  life,  for  I  love  it  so  !  " 

The  sun  was  well  up  in  the  heavens  when  they 
came  to  the  river,  and  the  dark,  rippling  sur 
face  gave  back  the  light  in  a  thousand  little 
dancing  gleams.  The  ice  was  broken,  the  snow 
was  gone,  and  fragments  of  shattered  crystal 
went  gently  toward  the  open  sea,  lured  by  the 
song  of  the  river  underneath. 

"  It  does  n't  look  deep,"  remarked  Rose. 

"But  is  is,  nevertheless.  I  nearly  drowned 
myself  here  when  I  was  a  kid,  trying  to  dive  to 
the  bottom." 

"  I  'm  glad  you  did  n't  succeed.  What  a 
heavy  blow  it  would  have  been  to  your  father!" 

"  Dear  old  Dad,"  said  Allison,  gently.  "  I  'm 
all  he  has." 

"And  all  he  wants." 

"It's  after  eight,"  Allison  complained, 
looking  at  his  watch,  "and  I  'm  starving." 

"So  am  I.  Likewise  my  skirts  are  wet,  so 
we  'd  better  go." 

When  they  reached  Madame  Bernard's, 
Rose  ordered  breakfast  in  the  dining-room,  for 
two,  then  excused  herself  to  put  on  dry  cloth 
ing.  Allison  waited  before  the  open  fire  until 
she  came  down,  fresh  and  tailor-made,  in 
another  gown  and  a  white  linen  collar. 

"  I  thought  women  always  wore  soft,  fluffy 
things  in  the  morning,"  he  observed,  as  they  sat 
down. 


no  ©tt>  TRose  ant)  Stiver 


"Some  do— the  fluffy  ones,  always/' 

"Who,  for  instance,  are  the  fluffy  ones?" 

"Aunt  Francesca  for  one  and  Isabel  for 
another." 

"  How  long  is  the  kid  going  to  stay  ?  " 

"  Until  she  gets  ready  to  go  home,  I  suppose." 

"  I  thought  she  had  no  home." 

"  She  has  n't.  Poor  Isabel  is  a  martyr  to  the 
Cause  of  Woman." 

"How  so?" 

"Her  mother  is  Emancipated,  with  a  large 
E,  and  has  no  time  for  trifles  like  a  daughter. 
She  devotes  herself  to  what  she  calls  the  Higher 
World  Service." 

"So  Isabel  is  stranded,  on  a  desert  island." 

"Yes,  except  for  us." 

"How  good  you  are!"  he  exclaimed,  with 
honest  admiration. 

"It  was  Aunt  Francesca,"  returned  Rose, 
flushing  slightly.  "I  had  nothing  to  do  with 
it.  She  took  me  from  a  desert  island,  too." 

"  Is  Isabel  emancipated  ?  " 

"Not  in  the  sense  that  her  mother  is." 

"  I  don't  see  but  what  she  is  free." 

"She  is.  She  can  do  exactly  as  she  pleases 
and  there  is  no  one  to  say  her  nay." 

"  I  thought  all  women  did  as  they  please." 

"They  do,  in  the  sense  that  we  all  do  as  we 
please.  If  you  make  a  sacrifice,  you  do  it 
because  you  can  get  more  pleasure  out  of 
making  it  than  you  would  otherwise." 


ZTbe  gear's  at  tbe  Spring" 


"  You  've  been  reading  Spencer." 

"  I  plead  guilty,"  she  laughed. 

"  If  it 's  true,"  he  went  on,  after  a  moment's 
pause,  "a  genuine  New  England  conscience 
must  be  an  unholy  joy  to  its  proud  possessor." 

"  It 's  unholy  at  all  events.  One  lump,  or 
two  ?"  she  asked,  as  the  coffee  was  brought  in. 

"Two,  please." 

It  seemed  very  pleasant  to  Allison  to  sit 
there  in  the  warm,  sunny  room,  with  Rose 
opposite  him,  pouring  his  coffee.  There  was 
an  air  of  cosiness  and  domestic  peace  about  it 
hitherto  outside  his  experience.  For  the  first 
time  he  was  conscious  of  the  peculiar  gracious- 
ness  and  sense  of  home  that  only  a  home- 
loving  woman  may  give  to  a  house. 

"  I  like  this,"  he  said,  as  he  took  the  steam 
ing  cup.  "  I  'd  like  to  do  it  often." 

"We'd  like  to  have  you,"  she  returned, 
hospitably. 

"I  thought  you  all  had  breakfast  together 
at  some  fixed  hour,  and  early  at  that." 

"How  little  you  know  Aunt  Francesca! 
You  can  have  breakfast  in  this  house  in  any 
room  you  choose,  at  any  hour  before  noon, 
all  the  year  round.  Sometimes  we  're  all  to 
gether,  sometimes  only  two.  Usually,  how 
ever  I  'm  alone,  as  I  seem  to  get  up  a  little 
earlier  than  the  others." 

"  I  think  I  '11  drop  in  occasionally,  then. 
It  looks  as  if  there  'd  always  be  somebody  to 


©vet  tbe 

Coffees 

Gups 


H2 


iRose  ant>  Stiver 


bear  me  company.  Perhaps  I'll  bring  Dad, 
too.  He  'd  like  to  have  you  pour  his  coffee." 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  admiration  in 
Allison's  eyes  and  Rose  turned  hers  away. 
He  sat  with  his  back  to  the  dining-room  door 
and  she,  across  from  him,  faced  it  squarely. 
For  the  merest  fraction  of  a  second  Isabel, 
in  a  pink  silk  negligee,  stood  in  the  door 
way,  then  vanished,  as  noiselessly  as  she  had 
come.  Her  eyes  were  full  of  mysterious  mean 
ing  that  Rose  was  powerless  to  translate. 

"  I  'd  enjoy  it,"  Rose  said  quickly.  "  I  love 
to  pour  the  coffee  and  Aunt  Francesca  always 
lets  me  on  the  rare  occasions  when  we  breakfast 
together." 

If  her  colour  was  a  little  brighter,  if  her 
voice  was  in  a  higher  key,  if  her  eyes  had 
changed  their  expression,  Allison  did  not  no 
tice  it.  Yet,  in  the  instant,  she  had  attained 
a  certain  dual  consciousness  —  there  seemed  to 
be  two  of  her.  One  was  the  woman  of  the 
world,  well-schooled  in  self-control,  tactful, 
watchful,  ready  to  smooth  any  awkwardness, 
and,  at  every  point,  to  guard  her  guest. 
The  other  was  Primitive  Woman  ;  questioning, 
curious,  and  watchful  in  the  sense  of  rivalry. 
She  put  it  resolutely  aside  to  think  about  later, 
and  was  very  glad  that  Allison  did  not  know. 

She  was  greatly  relieved  when  he  went  home, 
promising  to  return  later  for  a  few  hours  of 
work  upon  a  difficult  concerto.  "We  '11  do  it 


gear's  at  tbe  Spring 


again/'  he  said,  laughing,  as  he  went  down  the 
steps.  "Ask  Aunt  Francesca  to  give  me  a 
meal  ticket,  to  be  used  solely  for  breakfasts, 
will  you?" 

Rose  only  smiled  in  answer,  but  waved  her 
hand  to  him  as  he  went  out  of  the  gate.  She 
stood  pensively  in  the  hall  for  a  moment  or  two 
after  she  had  closed  the  door,  and  would  have 
gone  up  to  her  own  room  had  she  not  heard 
a  step  at  the  head  of  the  stairs. 

Isabel  was  coming  down,  also  fresh  and 
tailor-made,  with  a  white  linen  collar  and  a 
dashing  crimson  tie.  Rose  strolled  into 
the  library,  took  up  a  magazine,  sat  down, 
and  pretended  to  read. 

"  I  'm  so  sorry  to  be  late  to  breakfast,"  re 
marked  Isabel,  following  her.  "But  perhaps 
it 's  just  as  well,  as  I  was  n't  invited." 

"Nobody  was  invited,"  returned  Rose, 
coolly.  "I  went  out  for  an  early  walk, 
chanced  to  meet  Mr.  Kent,  and  he  invited 
himself  here  to  breakfast." 

"  I  did  n't  know  you  were  in  the  habit  of 
taking  early  walks." 

"  I  'm  trying  to  acquire  the  habit,"  answered 
Rose,  with  icy  sweetness. 

"  It  won't  be  hard,"  Isabel  said,  maliciously, 
"  if  they  're  all  equally  pleasant."  She  slammed 
the  door  as  she  went  out,  shutting  Rose  in 
the  library. 

For  an  instant  Rose  was  angry,  then  her 


Uartneaa 


(perfect 


1Rose  ant>  Stiver 


sense  of  humour  triumphed  and  she  laughed 
quietly  until  the  tears  came.  There  was  no 
need  now  to  meditate  upon  that  mysterious 
look  in  the  girl's  eyes,  for  she  had  translated  it 
herself. 

"The  idea,"  said  Rose  to  herself.  "That 
foolish  little  child!"  She  tried  to  recall  the 
conversation  at  the  breakfast  table,  and 
remembered,  with  regret,  that  they  had  dis 
cussed  Isabel  quite  freely.  The  thought  that 
Isabel  might  have  been  listening  before  she 
made  her  presence  known  came  forward  per 
sistently,  though  Rose  hated  herself  for  it. 

Then,  with  swift  resolution,  she  put  all 
annoying  thoughts  aside  to  dwell,  happily, 
upon  the  perfect  hour  that  nothing  could  ever 
change  or  spoil.  She  went  into  the  hall  by 
another  door  opening  out  of  the  library,  thus 
avoiding  Isabel,  and  sought  her  own  room, 
singing  to  herself: 

"  The  year's  at  the  spring, 

And  day  's  at  the  morn, 
The  morning  's  at  seven, 

The  hillside  's  dew-pearled, 
The  lark  's  on  the  wing, 

The  snail's  on  the  thorn; 
God  's  in  His  heaven — 

All 's  right  with  the  world! " 


IX 

a  IRnigfoWErrant 

A  NOTHER  mongrel  had  been  added  to  the 
/v  Crosby  collection,  so  the  canine  herd  now 
numbered  twenty,  all  in  the  best  of  health  and 
spirits.  Some  unpleasantness  had  been  caused 
at  the  breakfast  table  by  a  gentle  hint  from 
Juliet  to  the  effect  that  the  dog  supply  seemed 
somewhat  in  excess  of  the  demand.  She  had 
added  insult  to  injury  by  threatening  to 
chloroform  the  next  dog  her  brother  brought 
home. 

"Huh!"  Romeo  sneered,  "they're  as  much 
yours  as  mine.  You  brought  home  the  spotted 
one  yourself." 

"That  was  only  because  the  boys  were 
teasing  him.  I  did  n't  want  him." 

"  I  've  never  brought  home  any  without 
good  reasons,  and  you  know  it.  Besides, 
we  've  got  room  here  for  forty  dogs,  and  they  're 
all  fenced  in.  They  don't  bother  anybody." 

"Except  by  barking,"  complained  Juliet. 

"They  don't  bark  much  unless  somebody 


Il6 


®R>  1Rose  anfc  Silver 


by,  and  there  are  n't  any  neighbours  near 
enough  to  hear  'em,  even  then." 

"They  do  bark,"  Juliet  put  in  fretfully. 
"They  bark  all  the  time  at  something.  They 
bark  when  they  're  hungry  and  when  they  've 
eaten  too  much,  and  they  bark  at  the  sun 
and  moon  and  stars,  and  when  they're  not 
barking,  some  or  all  of  'em  are  fighting.  They 
drive  me  crazy." 

"Jule,"  said  Romeo,  sternly,  "I  don't  see 
what 's  the  matter  with  you  lately.  You  act 
like  a  sissy  girl.  Go  up  into  the  attic  and  work 
on  the  trapeze  for  an  hour  or  two,  and  you  '11 
feel  better.  It  would  n't  surprise  me  now  if 
you  got  so  sissy  that  you  were  afraid  of 
mice  and  snakes." 

Juliet's  anger  rose  to  the  point  of  tears. 
"I'm  not  afraid  of  mice,"  she  sobbed,  "and 
you  know  it.  And  I  '11  hold  a  little  green  snake 
by  the  tail  just  as  long  as  you  will,  so  there!" 

Man-like,  Romeo  hated  tears.  "Shut  up, 
Jule,"  he  said,  not  unkindly,  "and  we'll 
arbitrate." 

When  her  sobs  ceased  and  she  had  washed 
her  face  in  cold  water,  they  calmly  argued  the 
question  at  issue.  Romeo  candidly  admitted 
that  twenty  dogs  might  well  be  sufficient  for 
people  of  simple  tastes  and  Juliet  did  not  deny 
that  only  a  "sissy  girl"  would  be  annoyed  by 
barking.  Eventually,  Romeo  promised  not  to 
bring  home  any  more  dogs  unless  the  present 


H  ftnigbMBrrant 


supply  should  be  depleted  by  disappearance  or  "<i.  u. 
accident,  and  Juliet  promised  not  to  chloro 
form  any  without  his  consent.  With  one 
accord,  they  decided  to  fit  out  the  dogs  with 
brown  leather  collars  trimmed  with  yellow  and 
to  train  the  herd  to  follow  the  automobile. 

"They  ought  to  be  trained  by  the  thirtieth 
of  June,"  observed  Romeo.  "It  would  make 
more  of  a  celebration  for  Uncle  if  we  took  'em 
along." 

"Did  you  order  the  monogram  put  on  the 
automobile  ?  " 

"Sure.  I  told  'em  to  put  'The  Yellow 
Peril'  on  each  door  and  on  the  back,  and  the 
initials,  'C.  T.'  above  it  everywhere/'  The 
twins  had  adopted  a  common  monogram, 
signifying  "Crosby  Twins."  It  adorned  their 
stationery  and  their  seal,  but,  as  they  seldom 
wrote  letters,  it  had  not  been  of  much  use. 

"We  might  have  the  initials  put  on  the 
dogs'  collars,  too,"  Juliet  suggested. 

"Sure,"  assented  Romeo,  cordially.  "Then, 
if  we  lose  any  of  'em  on  the  road,  we  can  iden 
tify  'em  when  they're  found,  and  get  'em 
back." 

Juliet  saw  that  she  had  made  a  mistake  and 
hoped  Romeo  would  forget  about  it,  but 
vainly,  for  he  lounged  over  and  made  a 
memorandum  on  the  slate  that  hung  in  the 
hall. 

"I   wonder,"   continued   Romeo,   thought- 


n8 


IRose  anb  Silver 


fully,  "  if  the  yard  is  big  enough  to  train  'em  in. 
We  ought  not  to  go  out  on  the  road  until  the 
thirtieth." 

"That's  easy  enough/'  Juliet  answered, 
with  a  superior  air. 

"  How  'd  you  go  about  it  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  If  they  were  my  dogs  and  I  wanted  'em  to 
follow  me  in  an  automobile,  I  'd  let  'em  fast 
for  a  day  or  two  and  fill  the  back  seat  of  the 
machine  with  raw  meat.  They  'd  follow 
quick  enough  and  be  good  and  lively  about  it, 
too.  They  would  n't  need  to  be  trained." 

"Jule,"  said  Romeo,  solemnly,  "will  you 
please  forgive  me  for  calling  you  a '  sissy  girl '  ?  " 

"Sure!"  Juliet  had  learned  long  before 
she  was  twenty,  that  "forgive  me,"  from  a 
man's  lips,  indicates  the  uttermost  depths 
of  abasement  and  devotion. 

"The  fasting  won't  hurt  'em,"  Romeo  con 
tinued,  eager  to  change  the  subject.  "They  're 
all  in  good  condition  now." 

"  Except  the  last  one.  You  can  see  some  of 
his  ribs  yet." 

"You  can't  by  June." 

"No,  I  guess  not.  Say,  Romie,  oughtn't 
she  to  be  coming  to  see  us  by  now  ?  " 

"Who?" 

"  Isabel — what  's-her-name.  You  know,  up 
at  Bernard's." 

Happy-hearted  comrade  though  she  was, 
Juliet  had  a  secret  longing  for  feminine  asso- 


H 


119 


ciation,  at  rare  intervals.  It  would  be  pleasant 
she  thought,  to  go  skating  sometimes  with  a 
girl  or  two  instead  of  the  usual  crowd  of  boys. 
She  hated  herself  fiercely  for  disloyalty,  but 
the  idea  recurred  persistently. 

"  I  'm  not  up  on  etiquette,"  Romeo  replied, 
casually,  "  but  I  should  think,  if  she  wanted  to 
come,  she  could  do  it  by  now.  We  made  a 
polite  call  as  far  as  I  know/' 

"We  did  n't  leave  any  cards." 

"  Cards  ?    What  kind  of  cards  ?  " 

"Why,  little  cards  with  our  names  on  'em. 
People  always  leave  'em,  in  the  books,  when 
they  make  calls." 

Romeo  went  over  to  the  slate  again  and 
made  another  memorandum.  "  I  '11  get  'em. 
What  '11  we  have  on  'em?" 

"We  always  go  together,"  Juliet  suggested, 
"so  I  think  one  will  do.  Just  put  on  it  'The 
Crosby  Twins,'  with  our  address." 

"No  need  of  the  address.  Everybody  who 
knows  us  knows  where  we  live." 

"Perhaps,"  Juliet  went  on,  meditatively, 
"she  does  n't  like  me." 

"If  she  doesn't,"  Romeo  retorted,  "I'll 
know  the  reason  why.  Do  you  remember 
what  I  did  to  the  red-headed  boy  from  the 
Ridge  who  said  he  would  n't  skate  with  the 
crowd  if  there  was  a  girl  in  it?" 

Juliet  nodded  with  satisfaction.  "But  you 
know,  Romie,  you  can't  hit  a  girl." 


Visiting 

Carts 


I2O 


iRose  anfc  Stiver 


Ube 

XttnfaUfng 
Subject 


"That's  so,"  he  admitted  disconsolately. 
"That  fresh  kid  had  to  wear  beefsteak  over 
one  eye  for  almost  a  week." 

Juliet  laughed  at  the  idea  of  Isabel  with 
beefsteak  bandaged  over  one  eye.  "We  won't 
worry  about  things  we  can't  help,"  she  said, 
philosophically.  "We  've  done  the  proper 
thing  and  now  it 's  up  to  her.  If  she  does  n't 
come  before  we  get  the  automobile,  she  does  n't 
get  invited  to  go  out  in  it." 

"You  bet  she  does  n't." 

The  talk  quickly  turned  to  the  unfailing 
subject  of  automobiles.  "The  Yellow  Peril" 
had  been  ordered  and  half  paid  for,  but  there 
was  delay  in  delivery.  The  brown  clothes 
trimmed  with  tan  leather  had  also  been  ordered, 
as  well  as  the  brown  felt  hats,  exactly  alike, 
with  yellow  ribbon  bands.  They  had  the  gog 
gles  and  enjoyed  glaring  fiercely  at  each  other 
through  them,  especially  at  meals.  Juliet 
had  thought  of  making  a  veil  of  yellow  chif 
fon,  but  Romeo  had  objected  violently.  He 
thought  they  should  look  as  much  alike  as 
possible,  so  she  had  yielded. 

They  had  decided  to  make  a  wide  track 
through  the  yard  and  around  the  barn  to  prac 
tise  on.  Suitable  space  for  the  automobile 
had  already  been  set  aside  in  the  barn  and 
safely  fenced  in  beyond  the  reach  of  canine 
interference.  Romeo  had  not  seen  the  neces 
sity  of  the  fence  until  Juliet  had  pointed  out 


H 


121 


that  some  of  the  dogs  would  want  to  sleep  on 
the  leather  cushions.  "It  would  make  it 
smell  so  doggy/'  she  had  said,  "  that  we  'd  have 
to  call  it  'The  Yellow  Dog*  instead  of  'The 
Yellow  Peril/  " 

Romeo,  with  true  masculine  detachment, 
could  talk  automobile  with  unfailing  enthu 
siasm,  and  yet  think  continually  about  some 
thing  else.  The  thought  that  Isabel  might 
not  like  Juliet  had  not  occurred  to  him.  It 
seemed  impossible  that  anybody  should  not 
like  Juliet,  for,  in  the  fond  eyes  of  her  twin, 
she  was  the  most  sane  and  sensible  girl  in  the 
world. 

"Anyhow/'  thought  Romeo  as  he  went  to 
sleep  that  night,  "if  Jule  wants  her  to  come 
here,  she  's  got  to  do  it,  that 's  all." 

He  meditated  upon  the  problem  for  several 
days  without  reaching  any  satisfactory  con 
clusion.  At  last  he  determined  to  go  up  to  see 
Isabel  himself,  and,  as  he  phrased  it  in  his  own 
mind,  "see  how  the  land  lays."  It  would  be 
difficult  to  elude  Juliet,  but,  in  Romeo's  ex 
perience,  the  things  one  determined  to  do 
could  nearly  always  be  done. 

It  was  an  easy  matter  to  make  an  errand  to 
the  City,  "  to  poke  'em  up  a  bit  about  the 
machine,"  and  to  get  the  visiting  cards, 
which  had  promptly  been  ordered  by  mail. 
Juliet  rather  insisted  upon  going  along,  but 
was  easily  dissuaded  by  the  fact  that  "there 


problem 


122 


1Rose  ant>  Silver 


H  36uncb 
of  if  lowers 


might  be  a  row,  and  anyway,  it 's  a  man's  job." 

He  came  home  about  dusk  Vvith  several 
packages,  one  of  which  he  carefully  concealed 
under  a  pile  of  leaves  in  the  fence  corntr 
just  inside  the  yard.  He  could  easily  reach 
through  the  palings  and  lift  it  over  the  fence  as 
he  passed. 

Juliet  admired  the  cards,  was  delighted  with 
a  box  of  chocolates  and  two  new  novels,  and 
condescended  to  approve  of  Romeo's  new  red 
tie.  He  had  gloves  in  his  pocket,  but  feared 
to  show  them  to  her,  gloves  being  her  pet 
object  of  scorn. 

After  they  had  cleared  off  the  table,  Romeo 
strolled  over  to  the  window.  Five  of  the 
dogs  were  gathered  about  some  small  object 
and  the  yard  was  littered  with  bits  of  white. 
Under  his  breath  Romeo  said  something  that 
sounded  like  profanity,  and  Juliet  pricked  up 
her  ears. 

"What 's  the  matter?"  she  demanded. 

"I  brought  home  some  flowers,"  explained 
Romeo,  carefully,  for  it  was  written  in  the 
covenant  that  the  twins  should  never,  under 
any  circumstances,  lie  to  each  other,  "and  I 
must  have  dropped  'em.  The  dogs  have  torn 
'em  to  pieces,  box  and  all." 

Juliet  clapped  her  hands  gleefully.  "  I  'm 
glad  of  it!" 

"Why?"  he  asked  quickly,  with  an  uneasy 
sense  that  she  was  a  mind-reader. 


H 


123 


•'  Because  we  've  got  so  many  dogs." 

Romeo  chose  to  take  offence  at  the  innocent 
remark  and  relapsed  into  gloomy  silence. 
Disdaining  to  speak,  Juliet  curled  up  on  the 
decrepit  sofa  with  a  book  and  the  chocolates, 
and  presently  went  to  sleep. 

"  Fortune  favours  the  brave/'  he  quoted  to 
himself,  as  he  tiptoed  into  the  kitchen,  cau 
tiously  closing  the  door.  A  subtle  perfume 
filled  the  room  and  he  sniffed  appreciatively. 
An  open  bottle  of  vanilla  extract  stood  on  the 
kitchen  table,  where  a  pan  of  fudges  was  cooling, 
marked  off  into  neat  squares.  He  wrapped  the 
pan  in  a  newspaper,  anointed  his  handkerchief 
liberally  with  the  fragrant  extract,  and  softly 
stole  out  into  the  night. 

The  dogs  followed  him  to  the  back  fence,  but 
did  not  bark.  Only  a  few  soft  whines  followed 
him  as  he  sped  down  the  road,  thrilled  with  a 
sense  of  adventure  and  romance.  If  Juliet 
should  happen  to  wake,  she  would  think  he 
had  gone  away  because  he  was  angry,  and 
never  need  know  that  like  some  misunderstood 
knight  of  old,  he  was  merely  upon  an  errand 
of  chivalry  for  her.  The  fudges  would  do  as 
well  as  the  calla  lilies,  probably,  though  he 
felt  instinctively  that  they  were  not  quite  as 
elegant. 

It  was  a  long  way  to  Madame  Bernard's,  and 
Juliet's  knight-errant  was  weary,  after  an 
exhausting  day  in  town.  He  paused  outside 


fortune 

jpavourg 

tbe  JBrave 


I24 


iRose  anfc  Stiver 


BU 


the  gate  long  enough  to  clean  the  dust  from 
his  shoes  with  the  most  soiled  of  his  two  hand 
kerchiefs,  then  went  boldly  up  the  steps  and 
rang  the  bell. 

He  was  embarrassed  to  find  Colonel  Kent  and 
Allison  there,  though  the  younger  man's  tact 
speedily  set  him  at  ease  again,  and  enabled 
him  to  offer  Isabel  the  pan  of  fudges  with  un 
wonted  grace  of  manner.  Then  he  went  over 
to  Madame  Bernard. 

"Juliet  couldn't  come  to-night,"  he  said, 
" but  here's  our  card." 

Madame  could  not  repress  a  smile  as  she  read 
"The  Crosby  Twins"  engraved  in  the  fashion 
able  script  of  the  moment.  "How  very 
original,"  she  said,  kindly.  "Nobody  but  you 
and  Juliet  would  have  thought  of  it." 

"  Jule  thought  of  it,"  he  replied,  with  evident 
pride.  "  She  's  more  up  on  etiquette  than  I 
am." 

"  If  it 's  proper  for  husband  and  wife  to  have 
their  names  engraved  on  the  same  card," 
Madame  went  on,  "it  must  be  all  right  for 
twins." 

"It's  more  proper,"  Romeo  returned,  "be 
cause  nobody  is  so  much  related  as  twins 
are.  Husband  and  wife  are  only  relatives  by 
marriage." 

Colonel  Kent  laughed  appreciatively.  "Good ! 
May  I  have  some  of  Miss  Isabel's  candy?" 

Isabel,  convulsed  with  secret  mirth,  inform- 


H  *ffmi0bW6crant 


125 


ally  passed  the  pan,  and  only  Romeo  refused. 
"I  can  have  'em  any  time,"  he  said,  gener 
ously.  "Doesn't  Jule  make  dandy  fudges, 
though?" 

Everybody  agreed  that  she  did.  Madame 
Francesca  expressed  something  more  than  con 
ventional  regret  that  Juliet  had  not  been 
able  to  come. 

"She  was  asleep,"  Romeo  explained,  with 
studied  indifference. 

"After  she  wakes,"  suggested  Colonel  Kent, 
"  we  'd  like  very  much  to  have  you  both  come 
to  our  house  to  dinner." 

"Thank  you,"  replied  Romeo,  somewhat 
stiffly.  "We  'd  be  very  much  pleased."  Then 
to  himself,  he  added:  "That  was  a  lie,  but  it 
was  n't  to  Jule,  so  it  does  n't  matter." 

Rose  made  friendly  inquiries  about  the  dogs 
and  told  Allison  that  Romeo  was  said  to  have 
the  finest  collection  of  fishing  tackle  in  the 
State.  Much  gratified,  Romeo  invited  Allison 
to  go  fishing  with  him  as  soon  as  the  season 
opened,  and,  as  an  afterthought,  politely  in 
cluded  the  Colonel. 

"I  've  never  been  fishing,"  remarked  Isabel, 
as  she  could  think  of  nothing  else  to 
say. 

"  Girls  are  an  awful  bother  in  a  boat,"  Romeo 
returned,  with  youthful  candour.  "That  is, 
except  Juliet." 

Isabel  flushed  faintly  and  bit  her  lips.    To 


126 


1Rose  anfc  Stiver 


TTotbe 
Strainalof 

flDuafc 


relieve  an  awkward  pause,  Madame  Francesca 
asked  Allison  to  play  something. 

"Yes,"  said  Romeo,  "go  on  and  play." 
He  meant  to  be  particularly  courteous,  but 
his  tone  merely  indicated  that  he  would  not  be 
seriously  annoyed  by  music. 

As  the  first  strains  came  from  the  piano  and 
violin,  Romeo  established  himself  upon  the 
couch  beside  Isabel,  and,  in  a  low,  guarded 
tone,  began  to  talk  automobile.  Isabel  was  so 
much  interested  that  she  wholly  forgot  Aunt 
Francesca's  old-fashioned  ideas  about  inter 
rupting  a  player,  and  the  conversation  became 
animated. 

Both  Rose  and  Allison  had  too  much  good 
sense  to  be  annoyed,  but  occasionally,  until 
the  last  chord,  they  exchanged  glances  of 
amusement.  When  they  stopped,  Isabel  was 
saying:  "  Your  suits  must  be  just  lovely." 

Romeo  turned  with  a  lordly  wave  of  the 
hand.  "You  don't  need  to  stop.  Go  on  !" 

"How  can  you  expect  us  to  play  properly?" 
inquired  Rose,  tactfully,  "when  you  're  talking 
about  automobiles  ?  We  'd  much  rather  listen 
to  you." 

"Begin  over  again,  won't  you?"  asked  Alli 
son.  He  added,  with  a  trace  of  sarcasm 
wholly  lost  upon  Romeo:  "We've  missed  a 
good  deal  of  it." 

Thus  encouraged,  Romeo  began  again, 
thoughtfully  allowing  Isabel  the  credit  of  the 


H  ItnfgbMSrrant 


127 


original  suggestion.  He  dwelt  at  length  upon 
the  fine  points  involved  in  the  construction 
of  "The  Yellow  Peril/'  described  the  brown 
leather  and  the  specially  designed  costumes, 
and  was  almost  carried  away  by  enthusiasm 
when  he  pictured  the  triumphant  progress 
of  the  yellow  car,  followed  by  twenty  dogs  in 
appropriate  collars. 

"Can  you,"  he  inquired  of  Allison,  "think  of 
anything  more  like  a  celebration  that  we 
could  do  for  Uncle?" 

"No,"  replied  Allison,  choking  back  a  laugh, 
"unless  you  went  out  at  night,  too,  and  had 
fireworks." 

Romeo's  expressive  face  indicated  dis 
pleasure.  "Uncle  was  such  a  good  man,"  he 
said,  in  a  tone  of  quiet  rebuke,  "that  I  don't 
believe  it  would  be  appropriate." 

Allison  coughed  and  Colonel  Kent  hastily 
went  to  the  window.  Madame  hid  her  face  for 
an  instant  behind  her  fan  and  Isabel  laughed 
openly.  "  I  'm  sure  he  was,"  said  Rose, 
quickly.  "Can  you  remember  him  at  all?" 

"No,"  Romeo  responded,  "we've  never 
seen  him,  but  he  was  a  brick  all  the  same." 

"Are  you  going  to  run  the  car  yourself?" 
queried  Rose. 

"Of  course.  Some  day  I  '11  take  you  out," 
he  suggested,  kindly,  then  turned  to  Isabel 
and  played  his  highest  trump.  "Juliet  said 
something  about  asking  you  to  go  with  us  the 


Bppropria 

ate  Gclc= 
bration 


128 


©R>  IRose  atft  Stiver 


jfate 


second  time  we  went  out.  Of  course  it 's  her 
place  to  do  it." 

"  I  'd  love  to  go/'  murmured  Isabel. 

"She  '11  ask  you  when  you  come  out  to  re 
turn  her  call,"  Romeo  continued. 

"  I  've  been  meaning  to  come,  but  I  've  been 
waiting  for  good  roads." 

"When  you  come,"  he  answered,  "don't  say 
anything  about  my  having  been  here.  It 
might  make  her  feel  bad  to  think  I  went  out 
calling  and  left  her  asleep." 

"All  right— I  won't." 

As  soon  as  it  was  possible,  without  obvious 
effort,  Romeo  made  his  escape,  after  shaking 
hands  with  everyone  and  promising  to  come 
again  very  soon.  "  I  '11  bring  Jule  next  time. 
Good-night!" 

Once  outside,  he  ran  toward  home  like  a 
hunted  wild  animal,  hoping  with  all  his  heart 
that  Juliet  was  still  asleep.  It  was  probable, 
for  more  than  once  she  had  slept  on  the  sofa 
all  night. 

But  the  kindly  fate  that  had  hitherto  guided 
him  suddenly  failed  him  now.  When  he 
reached  home,  panting  and  breathless,  having 
discovered  that  it  was  almost  midnight,  a 
drooping  little  figure  in  a  torn  kimona  opened 
the  door  and  fell,  weeping  into  his  arms. 

"Oh,  Romie!  Romie!"  cried  Juliet,  hysteri 
cally.  "Where  have  you  been  ?" 

"There,"  he  said,  patting  her  shoulder  awk- 


H  lknigbt>J6rrant  I29 

wardly.     "Don't  take  on  so,  Jule.     You  were       Ube 
asleep,  so  I  went  out  for  a  walk.     I  met  Colonel 
Kent  and  Allison  and  I  've  been  with  them  all 
the  evening.     I  'm  sorry  I  stayed  so  long." 

"  I  have  n't  lied,"  he  continued,  to  himself, 
exultantly.  "  Every  word  is  the  literal  truth." 

"Oh,  Romie,"  sobbed  Juliet,  with  a  fresh 
burst  of  tears,  "  I  don't  care  where  you  've 
been  as  long  as  I  've  got  you  back !  We  're 
twins  and  we  've  got  to  stand  by  each  other!" 

Romeo  gently  extricated  himself  from  her 
clinging  arms,  then  stooped  to  kiss  her  wet 
cheek.  "  You  bet ! "  he  whispered. 


130 


an  tbour  /^^ONTRAR  Y  to  the  usual  custom  of  woman, 
Before  v_^  Isabel  was  ready  fully  an  hour  before  the 
appointed  time.  She  stood  before  the  fire, 
buttoning  a  new  glove  with  the  sense  of  abun 
dant  leisure  that  new  gloves  demand.  The 
dancing  flames  picked  out  flashes  of  light  from 
the  silver  spangles  of  her  gown  and  sent  them 
into  the  farthest  corners  of  the  room.  A  long 
white  plume  nestled  against  her  dark  hair  and 
shaded  her  face  from  the  light,  but,  even  in  the 
shadow,  she  was  brilliant,  for  her  eyes  sparkled 
and  the  high  colour  bloomed  upon  her  cheeks. 

Madame  Bernard  and  Rose  sat  near  by, 
openly  admiring  her.  She  was  almost  childish 
in  her  delight  at  the  immediate  prospect  and 
could  scarcely  wait  for  Allison  to  call  for  her. 
She  went  to  the  window  and  peered  eagerly 
into  the  darkness,  waiting. 

"Isabel,  my  dear,"  said  Madame,  kindly, 
"never  wait  at  the  window  for  an  unmarried 
man.  Nor,"  she  added  as  an  afterthought, 
"for  a  married  man,  unless  he  happens  to  be 
your  own  husband/' 


Isabel  turned  back  into  the  room,  smiling, 
her  colour  a  little  brighter  than  before.  "  Why 
not?" 

"Men  keep  best,"  returned  Madame,  some 
what  enigmatically,  "in  a  cool,  dry  atmosphere. 
If  you  '11  remember  that  fact,  it  may  save  you 
trouble  in  the  years  to  come." 

"Such  worldly  wisdom,"  laughed  Rose, 
"from  such  an  unworldly  woman!" 

"I  do  love  the  theatre,"  Isabel  sighed,  "and 
I  have  n't  seen  a  play  for  a  long  time." 

"  I  'm  afraid  we  have  n't  done  as  much  as 
we  might  to  make  it  pleasant  for  you,"  Ma 
dame  continued,  regretfully,  "but  we  '11  try 
to  do  better  and  doubtless  can,  now  that  the 
weather  is  improving." 

"  It 's  been  lots  nicer  than  staying  alone  in  a 
hotel,"  the  girl  answered.  "  I  used  to  go  to  the 
matinee  a  good  deal,  but  I  did  n't  know  very 
many  people  and  it 's  no  fun  to  go  alone. 
Don't  you  and  Rose  ever  go,  Aunt  Francesca  ?" 

"I  go  sometimes,"  said  Rose,  "but  I  can't 
even  get  her  started." 

The  little  grey  lady  laughed  and  tapped  the 
arm  of  her  chair  with  her  folded  fan.  "  I  fully 
agree  with  the  clever  man  who  said  that  'life 
would  be  very  endurable  were  it  not  for  its 
pleasures/  Far  back,  somewhere,  there  must 
be  a  strain  of  Scotch  ancestry  in  me,  for  I 
'take  my  pleasure  sadly.' ' 

"Which   means,"  commented    Rose,  "that 


QUorlMg 
.  UCUa&om 


132 


IRose  ant)  Stiver 


Idafting 


the  things  other  people  find  amusing  do  not 
necessarily  amuse  you." 

"Possibly,"  Madame  assented,  with  a  shrug 
of  her  delicate  shoulders,  "but  unless  I  'm 
obliged  to,  I  won't  sit  in  an  uncomfortable 
chair,  in  a  crowd,  surrounded  by  many  per 
fumes  unhappily  mixed,  be  played  to  by  a  bad 
orchestra,  walked  on  at  will  by  rude  men,  and, 
in  the  meantime,  watch  the  exaggerated  antics 
of  people  who  cannot  make  themselves  heard, 
even  in  a  room  with  only  three  sides  to  it." 

"  I  took  her  to  a  *  musical  comedy'  once,  in  a 
frivolous  moment,"  explained  Rose,  "and 
she  's  never  forgiven  me." 

"Why  remind  me  of  it?"  questioned  Ma 
dame.  "  I  've  been  endeavouring  for  years  to 
forget  it." 

Isabel's  eyes  wandered  anxiously  to  the  clock. 
She  had  a  strong  impulse  to  go  to  the  window 
again,  but  remembered  that  Madame  would 
not  approve. 

Presently  there  was  the  sound  of  wheels 
outside,  and  Allison,  very  handsome  in  his 
evening  clothes,  came  in  with  an  apology 
for  his  tardiness.  After  greeting  Madame 
Bernard  and  Rose,  he  bowed  to  Isabel,  with 
a  mock  deference  which,  none  the  less, 
contained  subtle  flattery. 

"Silver  Girl,"  he  said,  "you  do  me  too  much 
honour.  I  'm  not  at  all  sure  that  one  escort 
is  sufficient  for  so  much  loveliness." 


133 


Isabel  smiled,  then  dimpled  irresistibly. 
She  had  a  secret  sense  of  triumph  which  she 
did  not  stop  to  analyse. 

"Come,"  he  said.  "In  the  words  of  the 
poet, '  the  carriage  waits.'  " 

They  said  good-night  to  the  others,  and  went 
out.  There  was  silence  in  the  room  until  the 
sound  of  wheels  had  quite  died  away,  then  Rose 
sighed.  With  a  swift  pang,  she  envied  Isabel's 
glorious  youth,  then  the  blood  retreated  from 
her  heart  in  shame. 

Madame  sighed  too,  but  for  a  different  rea 
son.  "  I  suppose  I  should  n't  say  it,"  she  re 
marked,  "but  it's  a  relief  to  have  that  dear 
child  out  of  the  house  for  a  little  while." 

"  It 's  kind  of  Allison  to  take  her,"  Rose  an 
swered,  trying  not  to  wish  that  she  might 
change  places  with  Isabel. 

"Very  kind.  The  Rents  are  singularly  de 
cent  about  everything.  I  suppose  it  was 
Allison  who  managed  to  have  Romeo  Crosby 
call  upon  her  the  other  evening." 

"I  hardly  think  so.  You  remember  that 
Allison  had  n't  seen  him  since  he  grew  up." 

"Shot  up,  you  mean.  How  rapidly  weeds 
grow  ! " 

"Are  the  twins  weeds  ? " 

"  I  think  so.  Still,  they  're  a  wholesome  and 
stimulating  sort,  even  though  they  have  done 
just  as  they  pleased." 

The  fire  died  down  into  embers.    The  still- 


H  IRelfef 


134 


1Rose  anfc  Silver 


Un  Silence 
at  Ibomc 


ness  would  have  been  unbearable  had  it  not 
been  for  the  steady  ticking  of  the  clock.  Ma 
dame  leaned  back  in  her  chair  and  closed  her 
eyes.  Rose  tried  to  read,  but  could  not  con 
centrate  her  mind  upon  the  page. 

Her  thoughts  were  far  away,  with  the  two 
who  had  so  recently  left  the  house.  In  fancy 
she  saw  the  brilliantly  lighted  streets,  the 
throng  of  pleasure  seekers  and  pretty  women 
in  gay  attire.  She  heard  the  sound  of  wheels, 
the  persistent  "honk-honk"  of  motor  cars, 
and,  in  the  playhouse,  the  crash  of  cymbals 
and  drums.  Somewhere  in  the  happy  crowd 
were  Allison  and  Isabel,  while  she  sat  in  silence 
at  home. 

Madame  Francesca  stirred  in  her  chair. 
"  I  've  been  asleep,  I  think." 

"  You  're  not  going  to  wait  until  they  come 
home,  are  you  ?  " 

"Why  should  I?    Isabel  has  a  key." 

Rose  remembered  how  Aunt  Francesca  had 
invariably  waited  for  her,  when  some  gallant 
cavalier  had  escorted  her  to  opera  or  play, 
and  was  foolishly  glad,  for  no  discoverable 
reason. 

"  I  was  dreaming,"  Madame  went  on,  drows 
ily,  "of  the  little  house  where  Love  lived." 

"Where  was  it  ?"  asked  Rose  gently. 

"You  know.  I  've  told  you  of  the  little 
house  in  the  woods  where  I  went  as  a  bride, 
when  I  was  no  older  than  Isabel.  When  we 


135 


turned  the  key  and  went  away,  we  must  have 
left  some  of  our  love  there.  I  've  never  been 
back,  but  I  like  to  think  that  some  of  the  old- 
time  sweetness  is  still  in  the  house,  shut  away 
like  a  jewel  of  great  price,  safe  from  meddling 
hands." 

Only  once  before,  in  the  fifteen  years  they 
had  lived  together,  had  Madame  Bernard 
spoken  of  her  brief  marriage,  yet  Rose  knew, 
by  a  thousand  little  betrayals,  that  the  past 
was  not  dead,  but  vitally  alive. 

"  I  can  bear  it,"  said  Madame,  half  to  her 
self,  "because  I  have  been  his  wife.  If  he 
had  been  taken  away  before  we  were  married, 
I  should  have  gone,  too.  But  now  I  have 
only  to  wait  until  God  brings  us  together 
again." 

Outwardly,  Rose  was  calm  and  unperturbed ; 
inwardly,  tense  and  unstrung.  She  wondered 
if,  at  last,  the  sorrow  had  been  healed  enough 
for  speech.  Upstairs  there  was  a  room  that 
was  always  locked.  No  one  but  Aunt  Francesca 
ever  entered  it,  and  she  but  rarely.  Once  or 
twice,  Rose  had  chanced  to  see  her  coming 
through  the  open  door,  transfigured  by  some 
spiritual  exaltation  too  great  for  words. 
For  days  afterward  there  was  about  her  a  cer 
tain  uplift  of  soul,  fading  gradually  into  her 
usual  serenity. 

Mr.  Boffin  stalked  in,  jumped  into  Madame's 
lap,  and  began  to  purr  industriously.  She 


136 


©l&  1R05C  ant)  Stiver 


H 

picture 


laughed  as  she  stroked  his  tawny  head  and  the 
purr  increased  rapidly  in  speed  and  volume. 

"Don't  let  him  burst  himself/'  cautioned 
Rose,  welcoming  the  change  of  mood.  "  I 
never  knew  a  cat  to  purr  so — well,  so  thor 
oughly,  did  you?" 

"  He  's  lost  his  hold  of  the  brake,"  Madame 
answered.  "Are  you  going  to  wait  until 
Isabel  comes  home?" 

"Of  course  not." 

"Then  let 's  go  up  and  read  for  a  little  while." 

Rose  waited  until  Madame  was  half  way  up 
the  long  flight  before  she  turned  down  the 
lights  and  followed  her.  It  made  a  pretty  pic 
ture — the  little  white-haired  lady  in  grey  on 
the  long  stairway,  with  the  yellow  cat  upon  her 
shoulder,  looking  back  with  the  inscrutable 
calmness  of  the  Sphinx. 

Rose  felt  that,  for  herself,  sleep  would  be 
impossible  until  Isabel  returned.  She  hoped 
that  Aunt  Francesca  would  not  want  her  to 
read  aloud,  but,  as  it  chanced,  she  did.  How 
ever,  the  chosen  book  was  of  the  sort  which 
banishes  insomnia,  and,  in  less  than  an  hour, 
Madame  was  sound  asleep,  with  Mr.  Boffin 
purring  in  his  luxurious  silk-lined  basket  at 
the  foot  of  her  bed. 

Alone  in  her  own  room,  Rose  waited, 
frankly  jealous  of  her  young  cousin  and  fiercely 
despising  herself  for  it.  She  recalled  the  happy 
hours  she  and  Allison  had  spent  with  their 


x  3  7 


music  and  berated  herself  bitterly  for  her 
selfishness,  but  to  no  avail.  As  the  hours 
dragged  by,  every  moment  seemed  an  eternity. 
Worn  by  her  unaccustomed  struggle  with  self, 
she  finally  slept. 

Meanwhile,  Isabel  was  the  gayest  of  the  gay. 
The  glittering  lights  of  the  playhouse  formed 
a  fitting  background  for  her,  and  Allison 
watched  her  beautiful,  changing  face  with  an 
ever-increasing  sense  of  delight.  The  play 
itself  was  an  old  story  to  him,  but  the  girl  was  a 
new  sensation,  and  while  she  watched  the  mimic 
world  beyond  the  footlights,  he  watched  her. 

The  curtain  of  the  first  act  descended  upon 
a  woman,  waiting  at  the  window  for  a  man  who 
did  not  come,  and,  most  happily,  Isabel  re 
membered  the  conversation  at  home  in  the 
earlier  part  of  the  evening. 

"  Foolish  woman,"  she  said,  "  to  wait  at  the 
window." 

"Why?"  asked  Allison,  secretly  amused. 

"  I  would  n't  wait  at  the  window  for  an  un 
married  man,  nor  for  a  married  man,  either, 
unless  he  was  my  own  husband." 

"Why?  "he  asked,  again. 

"Because  men  keep  best  in  a  cool  dry 
atmosphere.  Did  n't  you  know  that  ?  " 

"  How  did  you  happen  to  discover  it,  Sweet- 
and-Twenty  ?  " 

Isabel  answered  with  a  smile,  which  meant 
much  or  little,  as  one  chose.  Presently  she 


I38  anb  Silver 


If  fee  a 
jflMrtor 


remembered  something  else  that  happened  to 
be  useful. 

"Look,"  she  said,  indicating  a  man  in  the 
front  seat  who  had  fallen  asleep.  "  He 's 
taking  his  pleasure  sadly." 

"  Perhaps  he  's  happier  to  be  asleep.  He 
may  not  care  for  the  play." 

"Somebody  once  said,"  she  went  on  hastily, 
seeing  that  she  was  making  a  good  impression, 
"  that  life  would  be  very  endurable  were  it  not 
for  its  pleasures." 

Allison  laughed.  He  had  the  sense  of  dis 
covering  a  bright  star  that  had  been  tempo 
rarily  overshadowed  by  surrounding  planets. 

"  I  did  n't  know  you  could  talk  so  well,"  he 
observed,  with  evident  admiration. 

Isabel  flushed  with  pleasure — not  guilt. 
She  had  no  thought  of  sailing  under  false 
colours,  but  reflected  the  life  about  her  as 
innocently  as  a  mirror  might,  if  conveniently 
placed. 

Repeated  curtain  calls  for  the  leading  woman, 
at  the  end  of  the  third  act,  delayed  the  final 
curtain  by  the  few  minutes  that  would  have 
enabled  them  to  catch  the  earlier  of  the  two 
theatre  trains.  Allison  was  not  wholly  dis 
pleased,  though  he  feared  that  Aunt  Francesca 
and  Rose  might  be  unduly  anxious  about  Isa 
bel.  As  they  had  more  than  an  hour  and  a  half 
to  wait,  before  the  last  train,  he  suggested 
going  to  a  popular  restaurant. 


139 


Thrilled  with  pleasure  and  excitement,  she 
eagerly  consented.  Fortunately,  she  did  not 
have  to  talk  much,  for  the  chatter  of  the  gay 
crowd,  and  the  hard-working  orchestra  made 
conversation  difficult,  if  not  impossible. 

"  I  've  never  been  in  a  place  like  this  before," 
she  ventured.  "  So  late,  I  mean." 

"  But  you  enjoy  it,  don't  you  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes !  So  much ! "  The  dark  eyes  that 
turned  to  his  were  full  of  happy  eagerness,  like 
a  child's. 

Allison's  pulses  quickened,  with  man's  in 
satiable  love  of  Youth.  "We  '11  do  it  again," 
he  said,  "if  you  '11  come  with  me." 

"  I  will,  if  Aunt  Francesca  will  let  me." 

"She  's  willing  to  trust  you  with  me,  I  think. 
She  's  known  me  ever  since  I  was  born  and  she 
helped  father  bring  me  up.  Aunt  Francesca 
has  been  like  a  mother  to  me." 

"She  says  she  does  n't  care  for  the  theatre," 
resumed  Isabel,  who  did  not  care  to  talk  about 
Aunt  Francesca,  "but  I  love  it.  I  believe  I 
could  go  every  night." 

"Don't  make  the  mistake  of  going  too  often 
to  see  what  pleases  you,  for  you  might  tire  of 
it.  Perhaps  plays  'keep  best  in  a  cool,  dry 
atmosphere,'  as  you  say  men  do." 

"You're  laughing  at  me,"  she  said,  re 
proachfully. 

"  Indeed  I  'm  not.  I  knew  a  man  once  who 
fell  desperately  in  love  with  a  woman,  and,  as 


•'.TKHe'H 

S>o  It 
flflafn" 


140 


IRose  an&  Silver 


Ubc 

pleasing 
CbiU> 


soon  as  he  found  that  she  cared  for  him,  he 
started  for  the  uttermost  ends  of  the  earth." 

"What  for?" 

"That  they  might  not  risk  losing  their 
love  for  each  other,  through  satiety.  You 
know  it 's  said  to  die  more  often  of  indigestion 
than  starvation." 

"  1  don't  know  anything  about  it,"  she  mur 
mured  with  downcast  eyes. 

"  You  will,  though,  before  long.  Some  awk 
ward,  half-baked  young  man  about  twenty  will 
come  to  you,  bearing  the  divine  fire." 

"  I  don't  know  any,"  she  answered. 

"How  about  the  pleasing  child  who  called 
upon  you  the  other  night,  with  the  imported 
bonbons?"  Allison's  tone  was  not  wholly 
kind,  for  he  had  just  discovered  that  he  did 
not  like  Romeo  Crosby. 

Isabel  became  fairly  radiant  with  smiles. 

"Was  n't  he  too  funny  ?" 

"He's  all  right,"  returned  Allison,  gener 
ously.  "  I  'm  afraid,  however,  that  he  '11 
be  taking  you  out  so  much  that  I  won't 
have  a  chance." 

"Oh,  no!"  said  Isabel,  softly.  Then  she 
added  with  frankness  utterly  free  from  co 
quetry,  "  I  like  you  much  better." 

"Really?    Why,  please?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  You  're  so  much  more, 
well,  grown-up,  you  know,  and  more 
refined." 


141 


"Thank  you.  I  'm  glad  the  slight  foreign 
polish  distinguishes  me  somewhat"  proper 

"Cousin  Rose  said  you  were  very  distin 
guished."  She  watched  him  narrowly  as  she 
spoke. 

"So  is  Cousin  Rose.  In  fact,  no  one  could 
be  more  so,"  he  answered,  with  evident  ap 
proval. 

"  Is  she  going  to  play  your  accompaniments 
for  you,  when  you  begin  the  season  ? " 

A  shadow  crossed  his  face.  "  I  'm  afraid 
not.  I  wish  she  could." 

"Why  can't  she?" 

"On  account  of  Madame  Grundy.  It 
would  n  't  be  proper." 

"  I  don't  see  why,"  objected  Isabel,  daringly. 
"  She  's  ten  years  older  than  you  are." 

Allison  bit  his  lips  and  the  expression  of 
his  face  subtly  changed.  "You're  ten  years 
younger,"  he  replied,  coldly,  "and  I  could  n't 
take  you.  That  does  n't  make  any  difference." 

Seeing  that  she  had  made  a  mistake,  Isabel 
sat  quietly  in  her  chair  and  watched  the  people 
around  her  until  it  was  time  to  go.  Greatly  to 
her  delight,  they  went  to  the  station  in  an  auto 
mobile. 

"Isn't  this  glorious!"  she  cried.  "I  'm  so 
glad  the  Crosbys  are  going  to  have  one. 
I  hope  they  '11  take  me  often." 

With  the  sure  instinct  of  Primitive  Woman, 
she  had  said  the  one  thing  calculated  to  make 


142 


1R05C  ant)  Silver 


£  be  Utme 

of  t>er 

life 


Allison  forget  his  momentary  change  of  mood. 

"  I  'm  sorry  I  have  none/'  he  said.  " '  Romeo 
Romeo,  wherefore  art  thou  Romeo?'  How 
times  have  changed!  The  modern  Lochinvar 
has  a  touring-car,  and  some  day  you  '11  be 
eloping  in  the  most  up-to-date  fashion." 

"What  makes  you  talk  to  me  about  him?" 
queried  Isabel,  with  uplifted  eyes.  "You 
know  I  don't  like  him." 

"All  right,"  he  answered,  good-naturedly. 
"I  won't.  I  hope  Aunt  Francesca  won't  be 
worried  about  you  because  we  're  so  late  in 
getting  back." 

"  I  don't  see  why  she  should  mind.  Mamma 
never  cares  what  I  do.  She  's  often  been  away 
for  weeks,  lecturing,  and  I  've  been  in  the  hotel 
alone." 

He  repressed  the  uncharitable  comment  that 
was  upon  his  lips  and  reverted  to  the  subject 
of  the  play.  "  I  'm  glad  you  've  enjoyed  it. 
I  wanted  you  to  have  a  good  time." 

"  I  've  had  the  best  time  I  ever  had  in  my 
life,"  she  responded,  with  evident  sincerity. 
"Is  n't  it  wonderful  what  they  can  do  with  a 
room  that  has  only  three  sides?" 

"It  surely  is.  I  've  had  a  good  time,  too, 
Silver  Girl.  Thank  you  for  coming." 

"  You  're  welcome,"  she  returned  sweetly. 

The  carriage  was  waiting  at  the  station, 
and  Isabel  was  very  quiet  all  the  way  home. 
Thinking  that  she  must  be  tired,  Allison  said 


143 


little  until  they  reached  Madame  Bernard's, 
and  he  had  seen  her  safely  into  the  house.  He 
insisted  upon  taking  off  her  gloves  and  coat  and 
would  have  extended  his  friendly  services  to 
her  hat,  had  she  not  laughingly  forbade  him  to 
touch  it. 

"  Good-night,"  he  said.  "  We  '11  go  again  soon." 

"All  right.  Good-night,  and  thank  you 
ever  so  much." 

The  sound  of  the  key  in  the  lock  had  wakened 
Rose  from  her  uneasy  sleep.  She  heard  their 
laughter,  though  she  could  not  distinguish 
what  they  said,  and  recognised  a  new  tone  in 
Allison's  voice.  She  heard  the  door  close,  the 
carriage  roll  away,  and,  after  a  little,  Isabel's 
hushed  footsteps  on  the  stairs.  Then  another 
door  closed  softly  and  a  light  glimmered  afar 
into  the  garden  until  the  shade  was  drawn. 

Wide-eyed  and  fearful,  she  slept  no  more, 
for  the  brimming  Cup  of  Joy,  that  had  seemed 
within  her  reach,  was  surely  beyond  it  now. 
Oppressed  with  loss  and  pain,  her  heart  beat 
slowly,  as  though  it  were  weary  of  living.  Un 
til  daybreak  she  wondered  if  he,  too,  was  keep 
ing  the  night  watch,  from  a  wholly  different 
point  of  view. 

But,  man-like,  Allison  had  long  ago  gone  to 
sleep,  in  the  big  Colonial  house  beyond  the  turn 
in  the  road,  idly  humming  to  himself: 

Come  and  kiss  me,  Sweet-and-Twenty; 
Youth  's  a  stuff  will  not  endure  ! 


SXsqutetci 


144 


TZbc 
4$r 
Bfr 


XI 

"(keeping  tbe  f  aitb 

COLONEL  KENT  and  Allison  critically 
surveyed  the  table,  where  covers  were 
laid  for  seven.  "Someway  it  lacks  the  'grand 
air'  of  Madame  Bernard's,"  commented  the 
Colonel,  "yet  I  can't  see  anything  wrong, 
can  you?" 

"Not  a  thing,"  Allison  returned.  "The 
'grand  air'  you  allude  to  comes,  I  think,  from 
Aunt  Francesca  herself.  When  she  takes  her 
place  opposite  you,  I  'm  sure  we  shall  compare 
very  favourably  with  our  neighbours." 

The  Crosby  twins  arrived  first,  having  char 
tered  the  station  hack  for  the  evening.  As 
the  minds  of  both  were  above  such  minor  de 
tails  as  clothes,  their  attire  was  of  the  nonde 
script  variety,  but  their  exuberant  youth  and 
high  spirits  gallantly  concealed  all  defects  and 
the  tact  of  their  hosts  quickly  set  them  both  at 
their  ease. 

Romeo  somewhat  ostentatiously  left  their 
card  upon  the  mantel,  so  placed  that  all  who 
came  near  might  read  in  fashionable  script: 


"Keeping  tbe  Jfaitb 


145 


"The  Crosby  Twins/'  Having  made  this  con 
cession  to  the  conventionalities,  he  lapsed  at 
once  into  an  agreeable  informality  that  amused 
the  Colonel  very  much. 

Soon  the  Colonel  was  describing  some  of 
the  great  battles  in  which  he  had  taken  part, 
and  Romeo  listened  with  an  eager  interest 
which  was  all  the  more  flattering  because 
it  was  so  evidently  sincere.  In  the  library, 
meanwhile,  Allison  was  renewing  his  old 
acquaintance  with  Juliet. 

"You  used  to  be  a  perfect  little  devil/'  he 
smiled. 

"I  am  yet,"  Juliet  admitted,  with  a  frank 
laugh.  "At  least  people  say  so.  Romie  and  I 
are  n't  popular  with  our  neighbours." 

"That  does  n't  speak  well  for  the  neigh 
bours.  Were  they  never  young  themselves  ?  " 

"  I  don't  believe  so.  I  've  thought,  some 
times,  that  lots  of  people  were  born  grown-up." 

"They  say  abroad,  that  there  are  no  child 
ren  in  America — that  they  are  merely  little 
people  treated  like  grown-ups." 

"The  modern  American  child  is  a  horror," 
said  Juliet,  unconsciously  quoting  from  an 
article  in  a  recent  magazine.  "They're  ill 
bred  and  they  don't  mind,  and  there  's  nobody 
who  wants  to  make  'em  mind  except  people 
who  have  no  authority  to  do  it." 

"Why  is  it?"  inquired  Allison,  secretly 
amused. 


Corn 


146 


<§>R>  TRoae  an&  Silver 


"  Because  spanking  has  gone  out  of  fashion," 
she  answered,  in  all  seriousness.  "It  takes 
so  much  longer  for  moral  suasion  to  work. 
Romie  and  I  never  had  any  '  moral  suasion/  — 
we  were  brought  up  right." 

Juliet's  tone  indicated  a  deep  filial  respect 
for  her  departed  parents  and  there  was  a  far 
away  look  in  her  blue  eyes  which  filled  Allison 
with  tender  pity. 

"You  must  be  lonely  sometimes,"  he  said, 
kindly. 

"  Lonely  ?  "  repeated  Juliet  in  astonishment  ; 
"why,  how  could  I  ever  be  lonely  with 
Romie?" 

"Of  course  you  could  n't  be  lonely  when  he 
was  there,  but  you  must  miss  him  when  he  's 
away  from  you." 

"  He  's  never  away,"  she  answered,  with  a 
toss  of  her  curly  head.  "We  're  most  always 
together,  unless  he  goes  to  town  —  or  up  to  your 
house,"  she  added,  as  an  afterthought. 

Allison  was  about  to  say  that  Romeo  had 
never  been  there  before,  but  wisely  kept 
silent. 

"Twins  are  the  most  related  of  anybody," 
Juliet  went  on.  "An  older  brother  or  sister 
may  get  ahead  of  you  and  be  so  different 
that  you  never  catch  up,  but  twins  have 
to  trot  right  along  together.  It  's  just  the 
difference  between  tandem  and  double  har 


ness." 


t 


Ikeeptno  tbe  jfaitb  I47 

"Suppose  Romeo  should  marry?"  queried 
Allison,  carelessly. 

"  I  'd  die,"  replied  Juliet,  firmly,  her  cheeks 
burning  as  with  flame. 

"Or  suppose  you  married  ?" 

"Then  Romie  would  die,"  she  answered,  with 
conviction.  "We've  both  promised  not  to 
get  married  and  we  always  keep  our  promises 
to  each  other." 

"And  to  other  people,  too?" 

"Not  always.  Sometimes  it 's  necessary  to 
break  a  promise,  or  to  lie,  but  never  to  each 
other.  If  Romie  asks  me  anything  I  don't 
want  to  tell  him,  I  just  say  '  King's  X,'  and  if  I 
ask  him  anything,  he  says  'it 's  none  of  your 
business/  and  it 's  all  right.  Twins  have  to  be 
square  with  each  other." 

"  Don't  you  ever  quarrel  ?  " 

"We  may  differ,  and  of  course  we  have 
fought  sometimes,  but  it  does  n't  last  long. 
We  can  always  arbitrate.  Say,  do  you  know 
Isabel  Ross?" 

"  I  have  that  pleasure.  She 's  coming  to 
dinner  to-night,  with  Aunt  Francesca  and 
Miss  Rose." 

"Oh,"  said  Juliet,  in  astonishment.  "If 
I  'd  known  that,  I  'd  have  dressed  up  more.  I 
thought  it  was  just  us." 

'  It  is  'just  us/  "  he  assured  her,  kindly;  "a 
very  small  and  select  party  composed  of  our 
most  charming  neighbours,  and  believe  me, 


148 


IRose  anfc  Silver 


HWscm 

and 

Juliet 


my  dear  Miss  Juliet,  that  nobody  could  possibly 
be  'dressed  up  more.' ' 

Juliet  bloomed  with  pleasure  and  her  eyes 
sparkled.  "Isabel  came  out  to  see  us,"  she 
continued,  "and  I  don't  think  she  had  a  good 
time.  We  showed  her  all  our  fishing  rods,  and 
let  her  help  us  make  fudges,  and  we  did  stunts 
for  her  on  the  trapeze  in  the  attic,  and  Romie 
told  her  she  could  have  any  one  of  our  dogs,  but 
she  said  she  did  n't  want  it,  and  she  would  n't 
stay  to  supper.  I  guess  she  thought  I  could  n't 
cook  just  because  she  can't.  Romie  said  if 
I  'd  make  another  chocolate  cake  like  the  one 
I  made  the  day  after  she  was  there,  he  'd  take 
it  up  to  her  and  show  her  whether  I  could  cook 
or  not." 

"  I  believe  he  would,"  returned  Allison,  with 
a  trace  of  sarcasm  which  Juliet  entirely  missed. 
Then  he  laughed  at  the  vision  of  Romeo  bear 
ing  the  proof  of  his  twin's  culinary  skill  into 
Madame  Bernard's  living  room. 

"You  come  out  and  see  us,"  urged  Juliet, 
hospitably. 

"  I  will,  indeed.    May  I  have  a  dog  ?  " 

"They  're  Romie 's  and  I  can't  give  'em 
away,  but  I  guess  he  could  spare  you  one. 
Would  you  rather  have  a  puppy  or  a  full- 
grown  dog?" 

"  I  'd  have  to  see  'em  first,"  he  replied, 
tactfully  steering  away  from  the  danger  of 
a  choice.  He  had  not  felt  the  need  of  a 


keeping  tbe  ffaitb 


149 


dog  and  was  merely  trying  to  be  pleas 
ant. 

"There  's  plenty  to  see/'  she  went  on,  with 
a  winning  smile.  "  I  like  dogs  myself  but  we 
fought  once  because  I  thought  we  had  too 
many.  We  've  named  'em  all  out  of  an  old 
book  we  found  in  the  attic.  There  's  Achilles, 
and  Hector,  and  Persephone,  and  Minerva, 
and  Circe  and  Juno,  and  Priam,  and  Eurydice, 
and  goodness  knows  how  many  more.  Romie 
knows  all  their  names,  but  I  don't." 

Hearing  the  sound  of  wheels  outside,  Colonel 
Kent,  with  a  certain  old-fashioned  hospitality 
to  which  our  generation  might  happily  return, 
went  to  open  the  door  himself  for  his  expected 
guests.  Juliet  went  hastily  to  the  mirror  to 
make  sure  that  her  turbulent  curls  were  in 
order,  and  Romeo  intercepted  Allison  on  his 
way  to  the  door. 

"  I  heard  what  she  said,"  Romeo  remarked, 
in  a  low  tone,  "  about  my  having  been  up  here, 
but  I  did  n't  tell  her  I  was  here.  I  don't  lie 
to  Jule,  but  I  'm  responsible  only  for  what  I 
say,  not  for  what  she  thinks." 

Allison  smiled  with  full  understanding  of  the 
situation.  "We  men  have  to  be  careful  what 
we  say  to  women,"  he  replied,  with  an  air  of 
caution  and  comradeship  that  made  his  young 
guest  feel  like  a  full-fledged  man  of  the 
world. 

"Sure,"  assented  Romeo,  with  a  broad  grin 


Sound  of 


<§>R>  IRose  anfc  Silver 


put  at 


and  a  movement  of  one  eyelid  which  was 
almost — but  not  quite— a  wink. 

Presently  the  three  other  guests  came  in, 
followed  by  the  Colonel.  Madame  Francesca 
was  in  white  silk  over  which  violets  had  been 
scattered  with  a  lavish  hand,  then  woven  into 
the  shining  fabric.  She  wore  violets  in  her  hair 
and  at  her  belt,  and  a  single  amethyst  at  her 
throat.  Isabel  was  in  white,  with  flounces  of 
spangled  lace,  and  Rose  was  unusually  lovely 
in  a  gown  of  old  gold  satin  and  a  necklace  of 
palest  topaz.  In  her  dark  hair  was  a  single  yel 
low  rose. 

Juliet  was  for  the  moment  aghast  at  so  much 
magnificence  and  painfully  conscious  of  her 
own  white  muslin  gown.  Madame  Francesca, 
reading  her  thought,  drew  the  girl's  tall  head 
down  and  kissed  her.  "What  a  clover  blos 
som  you  are,"  she  said,  "  all  in  freshest  white, 
with  pink  cheeks  and  sunshiny  curls!" 

Thus  fortified,  Juliet  did  not  mind  Isabel's 
instinctive  careful  appraisement  of  her  gown, 
and  she  missed,  happily,  the  evident  admiration 
with  which  Romeo's  eyes  followed  Isabel's 
every  movement. 

"Why  did  n't  you  tell  me  ?"  Allison  was  ask 
ing  Rose,  "so  I  could  have  ransacked  the 
town  for  golden  roses  ?" 

"  I  've  repeatedly  done  it  myself,"  laughed 
Rose,  "without  success.  I  usually  save  my 
yellow  gowns  for  June  when  all  the  yellow 


•Keeping  tbe  ffattb 


rose  bushes  in  the  garden  may  lavish  their 
wealth  upon  me." 

"Happy  rose,"  Allison  returned,  lightly,  "to 
die  in  so  glorious  a  cause/' 

The  twins  were  almost  at  the  point  of  starva 
tion  when  dinner  was  announced,  though  they 
had  partaken  liberally  of  bread  and  butter  and 
jam  just  before  leaving  home.  Romeo  had 
complained  a  little  but  had  not  been  suffi 
ciently  Spartan  to  refuse  the  offered  refresh 
ment. 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  want  to  feed  me  now 
and  spoil  my  dinner,"  he  grumbled,  as  he 
reached  out  for  a  second  slice. 

"  I  don't  want  to  spoil  your  dinner,"  Juliet 
had  answered,  with  her  mouth  full.  "Can't 
you  see  I  'm  eating,  too?  We  don't  want 
to  be  impolite  when  we  're  invited  out,  and  eat 
too  much." 

"  You  've  been  reading  the  etiquette  book," 
remarked  Romeo,  with  unusual  insight,  "and 
there  's  more  foolish  things  in  that  book  than 
in  any  other  we  've  got.  When  we  're  invited 
out  to  eat,  why  should  n't  we  eat?  They  may 
have  been  cooking  for  days  just  to  get  ready 
for  us  and  they  won't  like  it  if  we  only  pick  at 
things." 

"  Maybe  they  want  some  left,"  Juliet  replied, 
brushing  aside  the  crumbs.  "  I  remember  how 
mad  Mamma  was  once  when  the  minister  ate 
two  pieces  of  pie  and  she  had  to  make  another 


Uminarg 

luncheon 


IRose  anfc  Silver 


Somcwbat 
SubMteb 


the  next  day  or  divide  one  piece  between  you 
and  me." 

"  I  '11  bet  she  made  another.  She  always  fed 
us,  and  I  remember  that  the  kids  around  the 
corner  could  n't  even  have  bread  and  molasses 
between  meals/' 

On  the  way  to  the  dining-room,  Juliet  drew 
her  brother  aside  and  whispered  to  him: 
"watch  the  others,  then  you'll  be  sure  of 
getting  the  right  fork." 

"  Huh !"  he  returned,  resentfully,  having  been 
accustomed  to  only  one  fork  since  he  and 
Juliet  began  to  keep  house  for  themselves. 

When  he  saw  the  array  of  silver  at  his  plate, 
however,  he  blessed  her  for  the  hint.  As  the 
dinner  progressed  by  small  portions  of  oysters, 
soup,  and  fish,  he  gratefully  remembered  the 
bread  and  jam.  The  twins  noted  that  the 
others  always  left  a  little  on  their  plates,  but 
proudly  disdained  the  subterfuge  for  them 
selves. 

Madame  Francesca  sat  opposite  the  Colonel 
and  Rose  was  at  his  right.  Romeo  sat  next  to 
her  and  across  from  them  was  Allison,  between 
Isabel  and  Juliet. 

Somewhat  subdued  by  the  unfamiliar  situa 
tion,  the  twins  said  very  little  during  dinner. 
Juliet  took  careful  note  of  the  appointments  of 
the  table  and  dining-room,  and  of  the  gowns 
the  other  women  wore.  When  Romeo  was  not 
occupied  with  his  dinner  and  the  various 


tbe  ffaitb 


I53 


forks,  he  watched  Isabel  with  frank  admiration, 

.       ,        ,.~.  f          flDertfment 

and  wondered  what  made  the  difference  be 
tween  her  and  Juliet. 

Everybody  tried  to  produce  general  conver 
sation,  but  could  extract  only  polite  monosylla 
bles  from  the  twins.  Questions  addressed 
directly  to  them  were  briefly  answered  by 
"yes"  or  "no,"  or  "  I  don't  know,"  or,  more  of 
ten,  by  a  winning  smile  which  included  them  all. 

Had  it  not  been  for  Madame  Francesca, 
gallantly  assisted  by  the  Colonel,  the  abnormal 
silence  of  the  younger  guests  might  have 
reacted  unfavourably  upon  the  entertainment, 
for  Isabel  was  as  quiet  as  she  usually  was,  in 
the  presence  of  her  aunt  and  cousin,  Allison 
became  unable  to  think  of  topics  of  general 
interest,  and  Rose's  efforts  to  talk  pleasantly 
while  her  heart  was  aching  were  no  more 
successful  than  such  efforts  usually  are. 

But  Madame  Francesca,  putting  aside  the 
burden  of  her  seventy  years,  laughed  and 
talked  and  told  stories  with  all  the  zest  of  a 
girl.  Inspired  by  her  shining  example,  the  Colo 
nel  dragged  forth  a  few  musty  old  anecdotes 
and  offered  them  for  inspection.  They  were 
new  to  the  younger  generation,  and  Madame 
affected  to  find  them  new  also. 

Rose  wondered  at  her,  as  often,  envying  her 
the  gift  of  detachment.  The  fear  that  had 
come  upon  Rose  at  midnight  was  with  her 
still,  haunting  her,  waking  or  sleeping,  like 


154 


<S>I&  IRose  an&  Silver 


JSrcafcing 

3Breai> 
Uogetbcr 


some  evil  thing.  Proudly  she  said  to  herself 
that  she  would  seek  no  man,  though  her 
heart  should  break  for  love  of  him ;  that  though 
her  soul  writhed  in  anguish,  neither  he  nor  the 
woman  who  took  him  from  her  should  ever 
even  suspect  she  cared. 

She  forced  herself  to  meet  Allison's  eyes  with 
a  smile,  to  answer  his  questions,  and  to  put 
in  a  word,  now  and  then,  when  Madame  or  the 
Colonel  paused.  Yet,  with  every  sense  at  its 
keenest,  she  noted  Isabel's  downcast  eyes,  the 
self-conscious  air  with  which  Allison  spoke 
to  her,  and  the  exaggerated  consideration 
of  Juliet  which  he  instinctively  adopted  as  a 
shield.  She  saw,  too,  that  Isabel  was  secretly 
annoyed  whenever  Allison  spoke  to  Juliet, 
and  easily  translated  the  encouraging  air  with 
which  Isabel  met  Romeo's  admiring  glances. 
Once,  when  he  happened  to  turn  quickly 
enough  to  see,  a  shadow  crossed  Allison's  face, 
and  he  bit  his  lips. 

"How  civilised  the  world  has  become," 
Madame  was  saying,  lightly.  "The  mere 
breaking  of  bread  together  precludes  all  open 
hostility.  Bitter  enemies  may  meet  calmly 
at  the  dinner  table  of  a  mutual  friend,  and  I 
understand  that,  in  the  higher  circles  in  which 
we  do  not  care  to  move,  a  man  may  escort  his 
divorced  wife  out  to  dinner,  and,  without  bit 
terness,  congratulate  her  upon  her  approaching 
marriage." 


Ikeeping  tbe  Jfaitb 


155 


"  I  've  often  thought,"  returned  the  Colonel, 
more  seriously,  "that  the  modern  marriage 
service  should  be  changed  to  read  '  until  death 
or  divorce  do  us  part.'  It 's  highly  inconsis 
tent  as  it  stands/' 

"  'Consistency  is  the  hobgoblin  of  little 
minds/  "  she  quoted.  "  Inconsistency  goes  as 
far  toward  making  life  attractive  as  its 
pleasures  do  toward  spoiling  it." 

"What  do  you  call  pleasure?"  queried  Alli 
son. 

"The  unsought  joy.  If  you  go  out  to  hunt 
for  it,  you  don't  often  get  it.  When  you  do, 
you  've  earned  it  and  are  entitled  to  it.  True 
pleasure  is  a  free  gift  of  the  gods,  like  a  sense 
of  humour." 

By  some  oblique  and  unsuspected  way,  the 
words  brought  a  certain  comfort  to  Rose. 
Without  bitterness,  she  remembered  that 
Allison  had  once  said:  "In  any  true  mating, 
they  both  know."  Over  and  over  again  she 
said  to  herself,  stubbornly:  "I  will  have 
nothing  that  is  not  true — nothing  that  is  not 
true." 

It  was  a  wise  hostess  who  discovered  the 
fact  that  changing  rooms  may  change  moods; 
that  many  a  successful  dinner  has  an  aftermath 
in  the  drawing-room  as  cold  and  dismal  as  a 
party  call.  Madame  Francesca  had  once  char 
acterised  the  hour  after  dinner  as  "the  stick 
of  a  sky-rocket,  which  never  fails  to  return  and 


IHneougbt 


1 56 


®ll>  IRose  ant)  Stiver 


B  Strangf 
peace 


bring  disillusion  with  it."  Hence  she  post 
poned  it  as  long  as  she  could,  but  the  Colonel 
himself  gave  the  signal  by  moving  back  his 
chair. 

An  awkward  pause  followed,  which  lasted 
until  Rose  went  to  the  piano  of  her  own  accord 
and  began  to  play.  At  length  she  drifted  into 
the  running  chords  of  a  familiar  accompani 
ment  and  Allison  took  his  violin  and  joined  in. 
As  he  stood  by  Rose,  the  mere  fact  of  his  near 
ness  brought  her  a  strange  peace.  Had  she 
looked  up,  she  would  have  seen  that  though  he 
stood  so  near  her,  he  had  eyes  only  for  Isabel 
and  was  playing  to  her  alone. 

Isabel  did  not  seem  to  care.  She  sat  with 
her  hands  folded  idly  in  her  lap,  occasionally 
glancing  at  the  twins  who  sat  together  on  a 
sofa  across  the  room.  Madame  Bernard  and 
the  Colonel  had  gone  out  on  the  balcony  that 
opened  off  of  the  library. 

The  night  was  cool,  yet  had  in  it  the  softness 
of  May.  Every  wandering  wind  brought  a 
subtle,  exquisite  fragrance  from  orchards 
blooming  afar.  High  in  the  heavens  swung 
the  pale  gold  moon  of  Spring. 

"What  a  night,"  said  Madame,  almost  in  a 
whisper.  "It  seems  almost  as  if  there  never 
had  been  another  Spring." 

"And  as  if  there  never  would  be  another." 

"That  may  be  true,  for  one  or  both  of  us," 
she  replied,  with  unwonted  sadness. 


ffceepfng  tbe  ffaitb 


'57 


"My  work  is  done,"  sighed  the  Colonel.  "  I 
have  only  to  wait  now." 

"  Sometimes  I  think  that  all  of  Life  is  wait 
ing,"  she  went  on,  with  a  little  catch  in  her 
voice,  "  and  yet  we  never  know  what  we  were 
waiting  for,  unless  —  when  all  is  done  -  " 

A  warm,  friendly  hand  closed  over  hers. 
"  Do  not  question  too  much,  dear  friend,  for  the 
God  who  ordained  the  beginning  can  safely 
be  trusted  with  the  end,  as  well  as  with  all  that 
lies  between.  Do  you  know,"  he  continued, 
in  a  different  tone,  "a  night  like  this  always 
makes  me  think  of  those  wonderful  lines: 

'"The  blessed  damozel  leaned  out 

From  the  gold  bar  of  Heaven; 
Her  eyes  were  deeper  than  the  depth 

Of  waters  stilled  at  even; 
She  had  three  lilies  in  her  hand 

And   the  stars  in   her  hair  were  seven.'" 

Francesca's  eyes  filled  and  the  stars  swam 
before  her,  for  she  remembered  the  three  white 
lilies  the  Colonel  had  put  into  the  still  hands  of 
his  boy's  mother,  just  before  the  casket  was 
closed.  "I  wonder,"  she  breathed,  "if—  they 
—  know." 

"  I  wonder,  too,"  he  said. 

The  strains  of  the  violin  floated  out  upon  the 
scented  night,  vibrant  with  love  and  longing, 
with  passion  and  pain.  Something  had  come 
into  the  music  that  was  never  there  before, 
but  only  Rose  knew  it. 


©U>  IRose  anJ>  Stiver 


B  promise 


"Richard/'  said  Francesca,  suddenly,  "if 
you  should  go  first,  and  it  should  be  as  we  hope 
and  pray  it  may  be — if  people  know  each  other 
there,  and  can  speak  and  be  understood,  will 
you  tell  him  that  I  am  keeping  the  faith;  that 
I  have  only  been  waiting  since  we  parted  ?" 

"Yes.  And  if  it  should  be  the  other  way, 
will  you  tell  her  that  I,  too,  am  waiting  and 
keeping  the  faith,  and  that  I  have  done  well 
with  our  boy  ?  " 

"  I  will,"  she  promised. 

The  last  chord  of  violin  and  piano  died  into 
silence.  Colonel  Kent  bent  down  and  lifted 
Madame's  hand  to  his  lips,  then  they  went  in 
together. 


XII 

Hn  jSncbantefc  1bour 

TUnenMttfl 

THE  days  dragged  on  so  wearily  that,  to 
Rose,  the  hours  seemed  unending.  Al 
lison  came  to  the  house  frequently,  but  seldom 
spoke  of  his  music;  for  more  than  a  week,  he 
did  not  ask  her  to  play  at  all.  On  the  rare 
occasions  when  he  brought  his  violin  with  him, 
the  old  harmony  seemed  entirely  gone.  The 
pianist's  fingers  often  stumbled  over  the  keys 
even  though  Allison  played  with  new  authority 
and  that  magical  power  that  goes  by  the  name 
of  "inspiration,"  for  want  of  a  better  word. 

Once  she  made  a  mistake,  changing  a  full 
chord  into  a  dissonance  so  harsh  and  nerve- 
racking  that  Allison  shuddered,  then  frowned. 
When  they  had  finished,  he  turned  to  her,  say 
ing,  kindly:  "  You  're  tired,  Rose.  I  've  been  a 
selfish  brute  and  let  you  work  too  hard." 

Quick  denial  was  on  her  lips,  but  she  stopped 
in  time  and  followed  his  lead  gracefully. 
"  Yes,  and  my  head  aches,  too.  If  all  of  you 
will  excuse  me,  I  '11  go  up  and  rest  for  a  little 
while." 


159 


i6o 


1Rose  anD  Silver 


Hotbing 
tbat  Us 
not  "Crue 


Evening  after  evening,  she  made  the  same 
excuse,  longing  for  her  own  room,  with  a 
locked  and  bolted  door  between  her  and  the 
outer  world.  Lonely  and  miserable  though 
she  was,  she  had  at  least  the  sense  of  shelter. 
Pride,  too,  sustained  her,  for,  looking  back  to 
the  night  they  met,  months  ago,  she  could  re 
member  no  word  nor  act,  or  even  a  look  of  hers 
that  had  been  out  of  keeping. 

Over  and  over  again  she  insisted  to  herself, 
stubbornly:  "I  will  have  nothing  that  is  not 
true — nothing  that  is  not  true."  In  the  mid 
night  silences,  when  she  lay  wide  awake,  though 
all  the  rest  of  the  world  slept,  the  words  chimed 
in  with  her  heart-beats:  "Nothing  that  is  not 
true — nothing — that  is — not  true/' 

Madame  Francesca,  loving  Rose  dearly, 
became  sorely  troubled  and  perplexed.  She 
could  not  fail  to  see  and  understand,  and,  at 
times,  feared  that  Allison  and  Isabel  must  see 
and  understand  also.  She  watched  Rose 
faithfully  and  shielded  her  at  every  possible 
point.  When  Isabel  inquired  why  Rose  was 
always  tired  in  the  evening,  Madame  explained 
that  she  had  been  working  too  hard  and  that 
she  had  made  her  promise  to  rest. 

Rose  spent  more  time  than  usual  at  the  piano 
but  she  neglected  her  own  work  in  favour  of 
Allison's  accompaniments.  When  she  was 
alone,  she  could  play  them  creditably,  even 
without  the  notes,  but  if,  by  any  chance, 


Hn  Bncbantet)  1bour 


161 


he  stood  beside  her,  waiting  until  the  prelude 
was  finished,  she  faltered  at  the  first  sound  of 
the  violin. 

At  last  she  gave  it  up  and  kept  more  and 
more  to  her  own  room.  Madame  meditated 
upon  the  advisability  of  sending  Isabel  away, 
providing  it  could  be  done  gracefully,  or  even 
taking  her  on  some  brief  journey,  thus  leaving 
Rose  in  full  possession  of  the  house. 

Yet,  in  her  heart,  she  knew  that  it  would 
be  only  a  subterfuge;  that  it  was  better  to  meet 
the  issues  of  Life  squarely  than  to  attempt  to 
hide  from  them,  since  inevitably  all  must  be 
met.  She  could  not  bear  to  see  Rose  hurt, 
nor  could  she  endure  easily  the  spectacle  of  her 
beloved  foster  son  upon  the  verge  of  a  lifelong 
mistake.  Several  times  she  thought  of  talking 
to  Colonel  Kent,  and,  more  rarely,  of  speaking 
to  Allison  himself,  but  she  had  learned  to  apply 
to  speech  the  old  maxim  referring  to  letter- 
writing:  "When  in  doubt,  don't." 

It  happened  that  Allison  came  late  one  after 
noon,  when  Isabel  had  gone  to  town  in  search 
of  new  finery  and  Rose  was  in  her  own  room. 
Madame  had  just  risen  from  her  afternoon 
nap,  and,  after  he  had  waited  a  few  moments, 
she  came  down. 

"Where 's  Isabel  ?  "  he  asked,  as  he  greeted 
her. 

"Shopping,"  smiled  Madame. 

"  I  know,  but  I  thought  she  'd  be  at  home  by 


162 


IRose  anfc  Silver 


Something 
"Cdrong 


this  time.  She  told  me  she  was  coming  out 
on  the  earlier  train." 

"She  may  have  met  someone  and  gone  to 
the  matinee.  It 's  Wednesday." 

"She  did  n't  need  to  do  that.  I  '11  take  her 
whenever  she  wants  to  go  and  she  knows  it." 

"  I  did  n't  say  she  had  gone — I  only  said  she 
might  have  gone.  She  may  be  waiting  for  the 
trimming  of  a  hat  to  be  changed,  or  for  an 
appointment  with  tailor  or  dressmaker  or 
manicure,  or  any  one  of  a  thousand  other 
things.  When  you  see  her,  she  can  doubtless 
give  a  clear  account  of  herself." 

"Did  Rose  go  with  her?  "  he  asked,  after  a 
brief  pause. 

"No,  she's  asleep,"  sighed  Madame.  "Al 
lison,  I  'm  worried  about  Rose  and  have  been 
for  some  time.  She  is  n't  well." 

"I  thought  something  was  wrong,"  he  re 
plied,  without  interest.  "She  can't  seem  to 
play  even  the  simplest  accompaniment  any 
more,  and  she  used  to  do  wonders,  even  with 
heavy  work." 

"I  think,"  ventured  Madame,  cautiously, 
"that  she  needs  to  get  out  more.  If  someone 
would  take  her  for  a  walk  or  a  drive  every 
day,  it  would  do  her  good." 

"Probably,"  assented  Allison,  with  a  far 
away  look  in  his  eyes.  "  If  you  want  to  borrow 
our  horses  at  any  time,  Aunt  Francesca,  when 
yours  are  not  available,  I  hope  you  '11  feel  free 


En  JEncbantefc  fbour 


163 


to  telephone  for  them.  They  're  almost  eating 
their  heads  off  and  the  exercise  would  do  them 
good." 

"Thank  you,"  she  answered,  shortly.  Alli 
son  noted  the  veiled  sharpness  of  her  tone  and 
wondered  why  anyone  should  take  even 
slight  offence  at  the  friendly  offer  of  a  coach 
and  pair. 

"It  must  be  nearly  time  for  the  next  train," 
he  resumed.  "Is  there  anyone  at  the  station 
to  meet  Isabel  ?  " 

"Nobody  but  the  coachman  and  the  car 
riage,"  returned  Madame,  dryly.  "  I  'm  not  in 
the  habit  of  being  asked  whether  or  not  I  have 
made  proper  provision  for  my  guests." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Aunt  Francesca.  I 
would  have  known,  of  course,  if  I  had  stopped 
to  think/' 

"  How  is  your  father  ?  "  she  put  in,  abruptly. 

"All  right,  I  guess.  He  's  making  a  garden 
and  the  whole  front  yard  is  torn  up  as  though 
sewer  pipes  were  about  to  be  put  in." 

Madame's  heart  softened  with  pity,  for  she 
knew  that  only  loneliness  would  have  set  the 
Colonel  to  gardening.  "I  must  go  over  and 
see  it,"  she  said,  in  a  different  tone.  "My 
valuable  advice  has  n't  been  asked,  but  I  think 
I  could  help  a  little." 

"  Undoubtedly.  Your  own  garden  is  one  of 
the  loveliest  I  have  ever  seen.  Is  n't  that  the 
train?" 


Sbort  ant> 
Sbarp 


164 


®U>  IRose  anfc  Stiver 


Ut'8 

Isabel 


"I  think  so.  If  Isabel  comes,  I  believe  I  '11 
leave  you  to  entertain  her  while  I  drive  over  to 
inspect  the  new  garden." 

She  was  oppressed,  as  never  before,  by  the 
necessity  of  speech,  and,  of  all  those  around  her, 
Colonel  Kent  was  the  only  one  to  whom  it 
would  be  possible  for  her  to  say  a  word.  She 
did  not  stop  to  consider  what  she  could  accom 
plish  by  it,  for  in  her  heart,  she  knew  that  she 
was  helpless — also  that  a  great  deal  of  the 
trouble  in  the  world  has  not  been  caused  by 
silence. 

Allison  drummed  on  the  arm  of  his  chair 
until  he  heard  the  rumble  of  wheels,  then  went 
to  the  window.  "  It 's  Isabel/'  he  announced, 
joyously.  "  I  '11  go  down  and  help  her  out — 
she  may  have  parcels." 

Presently  they  came  in  together,  laughing. 
Isabel's  face  was  flushed  and  Allison  was 
heavily  laden  with  packages,  both  small  and 
large.  "I  feel  like  Santa  Glaus,"  he  cried, 
gaily,  to  Madame,  as  she  passed  them  on  the 
way  out. 

She  smiled,  but  did  not  take  the  trouble  to 
speak.  "Colonel  Kent's,"  she  called  to  the 
driver,  as  she  closed  the  carriage  door  with  a 
resounding  bang,  "and  please  hurry." 

The  Colonel  was  on  the  veranda  when  she 
arrived,  superintending  the  gardening  opera 
tions  from  there.  He  greeted  her  with  sur 
prise,  for  it  was  not  her  way  to  drive  over  there 


an  Encbantefc  1bour 


165 


alone.  "I  am  deeply  honoured/*  he  said, 
as  he  assisted  her  up  the  steps.  "May  I  order 
tea?" 

"No,  thank  you,"  she  answered,  somewhat 
primly.  It  was  evident  that  she  was  ill  at  ease. 
"  I  understood  from  Allison  that  you  were 
doing  all  this  yourself.  Instead,  I  find  you 
sitting  on  the  veranda  like  a  landed  proprietor, 
in  command  of  an  army  of  slaves." 

"Two  Irishmen  don't  make  an  army,"  he 
laughed,  "  though  I  '11  admit  that,  if  angry, 
they  would  make  a  formidable  force.  I 
helped  to  dig  for  a  while  this  morning,  but  it 
did  n't  seem  to  agree  with  me,  so  I  quit.  My 
work  seems  to  be  done,"  he  continued,  with  a 
sigh. 

"No,  it  isn't,"  she  returned,  sharply. 
"There  's  work  to  be  done,  but  whether  you 
or  I  or  both  together  can  do  it,  is  extremely 
doubtful." 

"What  do  you  mean,  Francesca?  " 

Madame  leaned  toward  him  confidentially. 
"Richard,"  she  said,  in  a  low  tone,  "has  it 
ever  occurred  to  you  that  Allison  might 
marry?" 

A  shadow  crossed  his  face,  then  vanished  in 
a  smile.  "Yes.  Why?" 

"  Have  you  ever  seen  a  woman  you  would  be 
willing  for  him  to  marry  ?  " 

"Only  one." 

"And  she ?  ' 


TKHorb  to 
be  Stone 


i66 


9tt>  IRose  anfc  Stiver 


tTbe  Same 

•Riflbt 


"Rose,"  said  the  Colonel,  softly.  "Your 
Rose." 

"  I  've  felt  that  way,  too,"  whispered  Ma 
dame.  There  was  silence  for  the  space  of  a 
heart-beat,  then  she  cried  out  sharply:  "But  it 
is  n't  Rose— it 's  Isabel ! " 

"What?"  he  cried,  startled  for  once  out  of 
his  usual  calm.  "That  child  ?  " 

"  'That  child'  is  past  twenty,  and  he  is  only 
ten  years  older.  There  was  fifteen  years' 
difference  between  you  and — "  Madame  fore- 
bore  to  speak  the  name  of  the  dead  and 
beloved  wife. 

Colonel  Kent  turned  his  dim  blue  eyes 
toward  the  hills.  Behind  them  the  sun  was 
setting,  and  he  could  guess  that  the  gold  of  the 
Spring  afternoon  was  scattered  like  star  dust 
over  the  little  sunken  grave.  He  left  Madame 
and  went  to  the  end  of  the  veranda,  where  he 
stood  for  a  few  moments,  facing  the  West. 
Then  he  came  back. 

"Francesca,"  he  said,  slowly,  "you  and  I  are 
on  the  Western  slope  and  have  been  for  a  long 
time.  The  Valley  of  the  Shadow  lies  at  the 
foot  of  the  hill  and  the  descent  is  almost  made. 
But  the  boy  is  young,  and  most  of  the  journey 
lies  before  him.  You  chose  for  yourself,  and  so 
did  I.  Shall  we  not  grant  him  the  same 
right?" 

"Yes,  but  Rose " 

"Rose,"  interrupted  the  Colonel,   "is   too 


En  jEncbantefc  f>out 


167 


gocxi  for  any  man — even  my  own  son,  though, 
as  I  said  before,  she  is  the  only  woman  I  would 
willingly  see  him  marry.  You  stand  almost  in 
his  mother's  place  to  him,  but  neither  you  nor  I 
can  shield  him  now.  We  must  try  to  remem 
ber  that  his  life  is  his — to  make  or  mar." 

"  I  know,"  she  sighed,  "  I  've  thought  it  all 
out." 

"Besides,"  he  went  on,  "what  could  we  do? 
Separation  would  n't  last  long,  if  he  wants  her, 
and  talking  would  only  alienate  him  from  us. 
Perhaps  you  could  bear  it,  but  I — I  could  n't." 

"Nor  I,"  she  returned,  quickly.  "When  we 
come  to  the  sundown  road,  we  need  all  the  love 
we  have  managed  to  take  with  us  from  the 
summit  of  the  hill.  I  had  n't  meant  to  say 
anything  to  anyone,"  she  went  on,  in  a 
changed  tone,  "  but  my  heart  was  full,  and  you 


are- 


"Your  best  friend,  Francesca,  as  you  are 
mine.  It  seems  to  take  a  lifetime  for  us  to 
learn  that  wisdom  consists  largely  in  a  graceful 
acceptance  of  things  that  do  not  immediately 
concern  us." 

"  How  like  you,"  she  responded,  with  a  touch 
of  her  old  manner.  "  I  ask  for  comfort  and  you 
give  me  an  epigram." 

"  Many  people  find  satisfaction  in  epigrams," 
he  reminded  her.  "Sometimes  a  snap-shot 
is  better  than  an  oil  painting." 

"Or  a  geometrical  design,  or  even  a  map," 


Bshfng  for 
Comfort 


i68 


®l&  1Rose  anfc  Stiver 


tlbc 


flight 


she  continued,  catching  his  mood.  The  talk 
drifted  to  happier  themes  and  Madame  was 
quite  herself  again  at  dusk,  when  she  rose  to 

go- 
On  the  way  back,  she  passed  Allison,  re 
turning  home  to  dinner  by  a  well-worn  path, 
but  he  was  thinking  of  something  else  and 
did  not  see  her  at  all. 

The  lilac-scented  midnight  was  starred  here 
and  there  with  white  blooms  when  May  went 
out  and  June  came  in.  Drifts  of  "bridal 
wreath"  were  banked  against  the  side  of  the 
house  and  a  sweet  syringa  breathed  out  a  faint 
perfume  toward  the  hedge  of  lilacs  beyond. 
Blown  petals  of  pink  und  white  died  on  the 
young  grass  beneath  Madame's  wild  crab-apple 
tree,  transplanted  from  a  distant  woodland  long 
ago  to  glorify  her  garden. 

The  hour  was  one  of  enchantment,  yet  to 
Rose,  leaning  out  into  the  moonless  night,  the 
beauty  of  it  brought  only  pain.  She  wondered, 
dully,  if  she  should  ever  find  surcease ;  if  some 
where,  on  the  thorny  path  ahead,  there  might 
not  be  some  place  where  she  could  lay  the  bur 
den  of  her  heartache  down.  Her  pride,  that 
had  so  long  sustained  her,  was  beginning  to  fail 
her  now.  It  no  longer  seemed  more  vital  than 
life  itself  that  Allison  should  not  know. 

She  had  the  hurt  woman's  longing  for  escape, 
but  could  think  of  no  excuse  for  flight.  She 


Hn  Encbantefc  f>our  169 

knew  Aunt  Francesca  would  manage  it,  in  some 
way,  should  she  ask,  and  that  she  would  be 
annoyed  by  no  troublesome  questions,  yet 
loyalty  held  her  fast,  for  she  knew  how  lonely 
the  little  old  lady  would  be  without  her. 

Day  by  day,  the  tension  increased  almost  to 
the  breaking  point.  June  filled  the  garden 
with  rosebuds,  but  their  pale  namesake  in  the 
big  white  house  took  no  heed  of  them.  She  no 
longer  concerned  herself  about  her  gowns,  but 
wore  white  almost  constantly,  that  her  pallor 
might  not  show. 

The  roses  broke  from  their  green  sheaths, 
then  bloomed,  opening  their  golden  hearts  to 
every  wandering  bee.  The  house  was  full  of 
roses.  Aunt  Francesca  wore  them  even  on  her 
morning  gowns  and  Isabel  made  wreaths  of  red 
roses  to  twine  in  her  dark  hair.  Every  breeze 
brought  fragrance  to  the  open  windows  and 
scattered  it  through  the  house. 

Madame's  heart  ached  for  Rose,  but  still 
she  said  no  word,  though  it  seemed  to  her 
that  the  blindness  of  the  others  could  not  last 
much  longer.  She  could  not  take  Rose  away 
unless  she  took  Isabel  also,  and,  should  she  do 
that,  things  would  soon  be  just  as  they  were 
now. 

As  Rose  faded,  Isabel  blossomed  into  the  full 
flower  of  her  youth.  Her  high,  bird-like 
laugh  echoed  constantly  through  the  house  and 
garden,  whether  anyone  was  with  her  or  not. 


IRose  ant>  Silver 


H  Definite 

Cboucjbt 


With  sinking  heart,  Rose  envied  her  even  a 
tithe  of  her  abundant  joy. 

As  the  moon  approached  its  full,  the  roses 
had  begun  to  drop  their  petals.  Under  every 
bush  was  a  scattered  bit  of  fragrance  that 
meant  both  death  and  resurrection.  Far  down 
in  the  garden,  where  the  sunken  lily-pool 
mirrored  the  stars,  the  petals  of  golden  roses 
drifted  idly  across  the  shining  surface. 

Rose  had  worn  white  at  dinner,  as  she  al 
ways  did,  now,  the  night  the  June  moon  came 
to  its  full.  Isabel,  too,  was  in  white,  but 
with  a  difference,  for  as  surely  as  the  older 
woman's  white  was  mourning,  her  silver 
spangles  were  donned  for  joy.  At  the  table, 
Madame  had  done  most  of  the  talking,  for 
Isabel's  conversational  gifts  were  limited,  at 
best,  and  Rose  was  weary  beyond  all 
words. 

After  dinner  she  went  to  the  piano  and 
struck  a  few  aimless  chords.  Isabel,  with  a 
murmured  excuse,  went  up  to  her  own  room. 
"Nothing  that  is  not  true,"  said  Rose  to  her 
self,  steadily;  "nothing  that  is  not  true." 

Presently  a  definite  thought  took  shape  in 
her  mind.  To-morrow  she  would  tell  Aunt 
Francesca,  and  see  if  it  could  not  be  arranged 
for  her  to  go  away  somewhere,  anywhere,  alone. 
Or,  if  not  to-morrow,  at  least  the  day  after,  as 
soon  as  she  had  seen  him  again.  She  wanted 
one  last  look  to  take  with  her  into  the  prison- 


En  Encbantefc  Ifoour 

171 

house,  where  she  must  wrestle  with  her  soul 
alone. 

•Denuncia 
tion 

ntt         £   ITL-       »-<<*-     <>tf>'       4^~ 

ifSW-ih  —  H-tt-¥fe==tE= 

§Lju,-L|i  -Qj  i  LJ  11  nn 

£)     e  /e^ato. 

eta-ii  .f^^i  r^rffi 

i2     /I                     ill           i               III  —  i 

lOi-fT"      tr    tr.ir1 

yK'ff    <L  —    —  ihtf-T—  H5?—          nsz: 

(hi*         <•  < 

H2                               i     c              1                                          " 

b  <[J 
„            f-      f-                 r      ^ 

f):g             m     t     •     t     m     \                                          I  'i 

:  ^^    h  r    r  i  '  '      '  *     • 

Her  stiff  fingers  shaped  the  melody  that 
Aunt  Francesca  loved,  and  into  it  went  all  her 
own  longing,  her  love,  and  her  pain.  The  notes 
thrilled  with  an  ecstasy  of  renunciation,  and 
the  vibrant  chords  trembled  far  out  into  the 
the  night. 

172 


<S>lt>  "Rose  ant> 


B  Shining 
figure 


A  man  entered  the  gate  very  quietly, 
paused,  then  turned  into  the  garden,  to  soothe 
his  wildly  beating  heart  for  a  few  moments 
with  the  balm  of  scent  and  sound.  Up 
stairs,  behind  the  shelter  of  the  swaying  cur 
tain,  a  shining  figure  drew  back  into  the 
shadow.  Smiling,  and  with  an  agreeable 
sense  of  adventure,  Isabel  tiptoed  down  the 
back  stairs,  and  entered  the  garden,  unheard, 
by  a  side  door. 

With  assumed  carelessness,  yet  furtively 
watching,  she  made  the  circuit  of  the  lily- 
pool,  humming  to  herself.  A  quick  leap  and  a 
light  foot  on  the  grass  startled  her  for  an  in- 


Hn  Bncbantet)  fcour 


173 


stant,  then  she  laughed,  for  it  was  only  Mr. 
Boffin,  playing  with  his  own  dancing  shadow. 


The  sound  of  the  piano  had  become  very 
faint,  though  the  windows  were  open  and 
the  wind  was  in  the  right  direction.  Isabel 
stopped  at  another  bush,  picked  a  few  full 
blown  white  roses,  and  sat  down  on  a  garden 
bench  to  remove  the  thorns. 

"I  wonder  where  he  can  be,"  she  said  to 
herself.  "Surely  he  can't  have  gone  home 
again."  She  listened,  but  there  was  no  sound 
save  the  distant  piano,  and  the  abrupt,  play 
ful  purr  of  Mr.  Boffin,  as  he  pounced  upon  a 
fallen  white  rose. 


TKHbevc 

Can  "fee 

3Bc? 


174 


®l&  IRose  ant)  Silver 


t>er  fl>tit& 


Isabel  put  the  flowers  in  her  hair,  consciously 
missing  the  mirror  in  which  she  was  wont  to 
observe  the  effect.  "He  must  have  gone  in 
while  I  was  coming  down/'  she  thought,  "but 
I  don't  see  why  he  should  n't  have  gone 
straight  in  when  he  first  came." 

She  decided  to  wait  until  he  came  to  look 
for  her,  then  as  swiftly  changed  her  mind. 
Rose  was  still  playing. 


Isabel  hummed  the  melody  to  herself,  not 
noting  that  she  was  off  the  key,  and  started 
slowly  toward  the  house,  by  another  path. 

Allison  was  standing  in  the  shadow  of  a 


Hn  Encbantefc  1bour 


175 


maple,  listening  to  the  music  and  drawing 
in  deep  breaths  of  the  rose-scented  air.  The 
moon  flooded  the  garden  with  enchantment, 
and  a  shaft  of  silver  light,  striking  the  sun 
dial,  made  a  shadow  that  was  hours  wrong. 
He  smiled  as  he  saw  it,  amiably  crediting  the 
moon  with  an  accidental  error,  rather  than  a 
purposeful  lie. 


n  Beef* 

dental 

Error 


1 76 


IRose  anfc  Silver 


Sbtne 


for 


Deeper  and  more  vibrant,  the  woman  within 
sent  the  cry  of  her  heart  into  the  night,  where 
the  only  one  who  could  answer  it  stood  watch 
ing  the  shadow  of  the  moon  on  the  sun-dial 
and  the  spangled  cobwebs  on  the  grass.  He 
picked  a  rose,  put  it  into  his  button-hole,  and 
turned  toward  the  house. 

A  hushed  sound,  as  of  rustling  silk,  made  him 
pause,  then,  at  the  head  of  the  path,  where 
another  joined  it,  Isabel  appeared,  with  white 
roses  in  her  hair  and  the  moon  shining  full 
upon  her  face.  The  spangles  on  her  gown 
caught  the  light  and  broke  it  into  a  thousand 
tiny  rainbows,  surrounding  her  with  faint 
iridescence. 

The  old,  immortal  hunger  surged  into  his 
veins,  the  world-old  joy  made  his  senses  reel. 
He  steadied  himself  for  a  moment,  then  went 
to  her,  with  his  arms  outstretched  in  pleading. 

"Oh,  Silver  Girl,"  he  whispered,  huskily. 
"  My  Silver  Girl !  Tell  me  you  '11  shine  for  me 
always!" 


Hn  JBncbantefc  Ifoour 


177 


The  last  chord  ceased,  full  of  yearning  that 
was  almost  prayer.  Then  Isabel,  cold  as  mar 
ble  and  passionless  as  snow,  lifted  her  face  for 
his  betrothal  kiss. 


ttbe  36c= 

trotbal 

Hiss 


i78 


Uaabel 
•Cells 


w 


XIII 

Mbite  Gloves 

ITH  shyness  that  did  not  wholly  conceal 
her  youthful  pride,  Isabel  told  Madame, 
a  few  days  later.  The  little  old  lady  managed 
to  smile  and  to  kiss  Isabel's  soft  cheek,  mur 
muring  the  conventional  hope  for  her  happi 
ness.  Inwardly,  she  was  far  from  calm,  though 
deeply  thankful  that  Rose  did  not  happen  to  be 
in  the  room. 

"You  must  make  him  very  happy,  dear," 
she  said. 

"  I  guess  we  '11  have  a  good  time,"  returned 
Isabel,  smothering  a  yawn.  "It  will  be  lots 
of  fun  to  go  all  over  the  country  and  see  all  the 
big  cities." 

"  I  hope  he  will  be  successful,"  Madame  con 
tinued.  "He  must  be,"  she  added,  fervently. 

"  I  suppose  we  shall  be  entertained  a  great 
deal,"  remarked  Isabel.  "He  has  written  to 
Mamma,  but  she  has  n't  had  time  to  answer 
yet." 

"  I  can  vouch  for  my  foster  son,"  Madame 
replied. 


Udbite  6lo\>es 


179 


"  It  is  n't  necessary,"  the  girl  went  on,  "  and 
I  told  him  so.  Mamma  never  cares  what  I  do, 
and  she  '11  be  glad  to  get  me  off  her  hands. 
Would  you  mind  if  I  were  married  here  ?  " 

Madame's  heart  throbbed  with  tender  pity. 
"Indeed,"  she  answered,  warmly,  "you  shall 
have  the  prettiest  wedding  I  can  give  you. 
Your  mother  will  come,  won't  she?  " 

"Not  if  it  would  interfere  with  her  lecture 
engagements.  She 's  going  to  lecture  all  next 
season  on  'The  Slavery  of  Marriage.'  She 
says  the  wedding  ring  is  a  sign  of  bondage, 
dating  back  to  the  old  days  when  a  woman  was 
her  husband's  property." 

Madame  Francesca's  blue  eyes  filled  with  a 
sudden  mist.  Slowly  she  turned  on  her  finger 
the  worn  band  of  gold  that  her  gallant  Captain 
had  placed  there  ere  he  went  to  war.  It 
carried  still  a  deep  remembrance  too  holy  for 
speech.  "Property,"  repeated  the  old  lady, 
in  a  whisper.  "Ah,  but  how  dear  it  is  to  be 
owned  ! " 

"  I  don't  mind  wearing  it,"  said  Isabel,  with 
a  patronising  air,  "but  I  want  it  as  narrow  as 
possible,  so  it  won't  interfere  with  my  other 
rings,  and,  of  course,  I  can  take  it  off  when  I 
like." 

"  Of  course,  but  I  would  be  glad  to  have  you 
so  happily  married,  my  dear,  that  you  would  n't 
want  to  take  it  off — ever." 

"  I  '11  have  to  ask  Mamma  to  send  me  some 


tTbe  Canb 
Of  (Bolb 


i8o 


1Rosc  ant)  Silver 


Sbc'0 
Uoo  Olfc! 


money  for  clothes/'  the  girl  went  on,  half  to 
herself. 

"Don't  bother  her  with  it,"  suggested  the 
other,  kindly.  "Let  me  do  it.  Rose  and  I 
will  enjoy  making  pretty  things  for  a  bride." 

"I'm  afraid  Cousin  Rose  wouldn't  enjoy 
it,"  Isabel  replied,  with  an  unpleasant  laugh. 
"Do  you  know,"  she  added,  confidentially, 
"  I  've  always  thought  Cousin  Rose  liked  Alli 
son — well,  a  good  deal." 

"She  does,"  returned  Madame,  meeting  the 
girl's  eyes  clearly,  "and  so  do  I.  When 
you  're  older,  Isabel,  you  '11  learn  to  distin 
guish  between  a  mere  friendly  interest  and  the 
grand  passion." 

"She's  too  old,  I  know,"  Isabel  continued, 
with  the  brutality  of  confident  youth,  "but 
sometimes  older  women  do  fall  in  love  with 
young  men." 

"Why  shouldn't  they?"  queried  Madame, 
lightly,  "  as  long  as  older  men  choose  to  fall  in 
love  with  young  women  ?  As  far  as  that  goes, 
it  would  be  no  worse  for  Allison  to  marry  Rose 
than  it  is  for  him  to  marry  you." 

"But,"  objected  Isabel,  "when  he  is  sixty, 
she  will  be  seventy,  and  he  would  n't  care 
for  her." 

"And,"  returned  Madame,  rather  sharply, 
"when  he  is  forty,  you  will  be  only  thirty  and 
you  may  not  care  for  him.  There  are  always 
two  sides  to  everything,"  she  added,  after  a 


IKItbfte  <5lox>es  l8l 

pause,  "and  when  we  get  so  civilised  that  all 
women  may  be  self-supporting  if  they  choose, 
we  may  see  a  little  advice  to  husbands  on  the 
way  of  keeping  a  wife's  love,  instead  of  the 
flood  of  nonsense  that  disfigures  the  periodicals 
now." 

"They  all  say  that  woman  makes  the  home," 
Isabel  suggested,  idly. 

"But  not  alone.  No  woman  can  make  a 
home  alone.  It  takes  two  pairs  of  hands  to 
make  a  home — one  strong  and  the  other 
tender,  and  two  true  hearts." 

"  I  hope  it  won't  take  too  long  to  make  my 
clothes,"  answered  Isabel,  irrelevantly.  "He 
says  I  must  be  ready  by  September." 

"Then  we  must  begin  immediately.  Write 
out  everything  you  think  of,  and  afterward 
we  '11  go  over  the  list  together.  Come  into 
the  library  and  begin  now.  There  's  no  time 
like  the  present." 

"Do  you  think,"  Isabel  inquired  as  she 
seated  herself  at  the  library  table,  "that  I  will 
have  many  presents  ?  " 

"Probably,"  answered  Madame,  briefly. 
"  I  '11  come  back  when  you've  finished  your  list." 

She  went  up-stairs  and  knocked  gently  at  the 
door  of  Rose's  room,  feeling  very  much  as  she 
did  the  day  she  went  to  Colonel  Kent  to  tell 
him  that  the  little  mother  of  his  new-born 
son  was  dead.  Rose  herself  opened  the  door, 
somewhat  surprised. 


182 


iRose  ant)  Stiver 


Battles 
to  $ tflbt 


Madame  went  in,  closed  the  door,  then  stood 
there  for  a  moment,  at  a  loss  for  words. 

"Has  it  come?  "  asked  Rose,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Yes.    Oh,  Rose,  my  dear  Rose  !  " 

She  put  her  arm  around  the  younger  woman 
and  led  her  to  the  couch.  Every  hint  of  colour 
faded  from  Rose's  face;  her  eyes  were  wide  and 
staring,  her  lips  scarcely  pink.  "I  must  go 
away,"  she  murmured. 

"Where,  dearest?" 

"Anywhere — oh,  anywhere  ! " 

"I  know,  dear,  believe  me,  I  know,  but  it 
never  does  any  good  to  run  away  from  things 
that  must  be  faced  sooner  or  later.  We  women 
have  our  battles  to  fight  as  well  as  the  men  who 
go  to  war,  and  the  same  truth  applies  to  both — 
that  only  a  coward  will  retreat  under  fire." 

Rose  sighed  and  clenched  her  hands  together 
tightly. 

"Once  there  was  a  ship,"  said  Madame, 
softly,  "sinking  in  mid-ocean,  surrounded  by 
fog.  It  had  drifted  far  out  of  its  course,  and 
collided  with  a  derelict.  The  captain  ordered 
the  band  to  play,  the  officers  put  on  their  dress 
uniforms  and  their  white  gloves.  Another 
ship,  that  was  drifting,  too,  signalled  in  answer 
to  the  music,  and  all  were  saved." 

"That  was  possible — but  there  can  be  no 
signal  for  me." 

"  Perhaps  not,  but  let 's  put  on  our  white 
gloves  and  order  out  the  band." 


TKUbfte  Gloves  183 

The  unconscious  plural  struck  Rose  with 
deep    significance.    "Did    you — know,    Aunt        ^"t 
Francesca  ?  " 

"Yes,  dear." 

"For  how  long?" 

"Always,  I  think." 

"Did  it  seem — absurd,  in  any  way  ?  " 

"Not  at  all.  I  was  hoping  for  it,  until  the 
wind  changed.  And,"  she  added,  with  her 
face  turned  away,  "Colonel  Kent  was,  too." 

Some  of  the  colour  ebbed  slowly  back  into 
the  white,  stricken  face.  "That  makes  me 
feel,"  Rose  breathed,  "as  if  I  hadn't  been 
quite  so  foolish  as  I  've  been  thinking  I  was." 

"Then  keep  the  high  heart,  dear,  for  they 
must  n't  suspect." 

"No,"  cried  Rose  sharply,  "oh,  no!  Any 
thing  but  that !" 

"It's  hard  to  wear  gloves  when  you  don't 
want  to,"  replied  Madame,  with  seeming 
irrelevance,  "but  it's  easier  when  there  are 
others.  The  Colonel  will  need  them,  too — this 
is  going  to  be  hard  on  him." 

"Does — he — know?"  whispered  Rose,  fear 
fully. 

"No,"  answered  Madame,  laughing  out 
right,  "indeed  he  doesn't.  Did  you  ever 
know  of  a  man  discovering  anything  that 
was  n't  right  under  his  nose?  " 

"  And  I  am  safe  with — with " 

"With  everybody  but  Isabel.     She  may  be 


1 84 


IRose  ant)  Silver 


Ubc  Colo* 
nel'0  Call 


foolish,  but  she  's  a  woman,  and  even  a  woman 
can  see  around  a  corner." 

"Thank  you  for  telling  me,"  said  Rose,  after 
a  little;  "for  giving  me  time.  It  was  like  you." 

"  I  'm  glad  I  could,  but  remember,  I  have  n't 
told  you,  officially.  Let  her  tell  you  herself." 

Rose  nodded.  "Then  I  '11  come  down  just  as 
soon  as  I  can." 

"With  white  gloves  on,  dear,  and  flags 
flying.  Make  your  old  aunt  proud  of  you 
now,  won't  you?" 

"  I  '11  try,"  she  answered,  humbly,  then 
quickly  closed  the  door. 

Meanwhile  Colonel  Kent,  most  correctly 
attired,  was  making  a  formal  call  upon  his 
prospective  daughter-in-law,  and  the  list  had 
scarcely  been  begun.  Isabel  sat  in  the  living 
room,  trying  not  to  show  that  she  was  bored. 
The  Colonel  had  come  in,  ready  to  receive  her 
into  his  house  and.  his  heart,  but  Isabel  had 
shaken  hands  with  him  coolly,  and  accepted 
shrinkingly  the  fatherly  kiss  he  stooped  to 
bestow  upon  her  forehead. 

He  had  tried  several  preliminary  topics  of 
conversation,  which  had  been  met  with  chilling 
monosyllables,  so  he  plunged  into  the  heart  of 
the  subject,  with  inward  trepidation. 

"  I  told  Allison  this  morning  that  I  owed  him 
my  thanks  for  bringing  me  a  daughter." 

"Yes,"  said  Isabel,  placidly. 


TKIibite  Gloves  185 

"The  old  house  needs  young  voices  and  the 
sound  of  young  feet,"  the  Colonel  went 
on. 

Isabel  began  to  speak,  then  hesitated  and 
relapsed  into  silence.  Mr.  Boffin  came  in, 
purring  loudly,  and  rubbed  familiarly  against 
the  Colonel,  leaving  a  thin  coating  of  yellow 
hair. 

"It  seems  to  be  the  moulting  season  for 
cats,"  laughed  the  Colonel,  observing  the 
damage  ruefully. 

Isabel  moved  restlessly  in  her  chair,  but 
said  nothing.  The  pause  had  become  awk 
ward  when  the  Colonel  rose  to  take  his  leave. 

"  I  hope  you  may  be  happy,"  he  said, 
gravely,  "  and  make  our  old  house  happier  for 
your  coming." 

"Oh,"  returned  Isabel,  quickly,  "I  hadn't 
thought  of  that.  I  hadn't  thought  of— of 
living  there." 

"The  house  is  large,"  he  ventured,  puzzled. 

"Mamma  has  always  said,"  remarked  Isabel, 
primly,  "that  no  house  was  large  enough  for 
two  families." 

Colonel  Kent  managed  to  force  a  laugh. 
"You  may  be  right,"  he  answered.  "At 
least,  everything  shall  be  arranged  to  your 
liking." 

He  had  said  good-bye  and  was  on  his  way 
out,  when  Francesca  came  down  from  Rose's 
room.  Seeing  her,  he  waited  for  a  moment. 


i86 


©Ib  IRose  anb  Silver 


Cbc  Clow 

fcaa 
fallen 


Isabel  had  gone  into  the  library  and  closed  the 
door. 

"Whence  this  haste?"  queried  Madame, 
with  a  lightness  which  was  just  then  difficult 
to  assume.  "Were  you  going  without  seeing 
me?  " 

"I  had  feared  I  would  be  obliged  to,"  he 
returned,  gallantly.  "  I  was  calling  upon  my 
future  daughter-in-law,"  he  added,  in  a  low 
tone,  as  they  went  out  on  the  veranda. 

Madame  sighed  and  sank  gratefully  into  the 
chair  he  offered  her.  In  the  broad  light  of  day, 
she  looked  old  and  worn. 

"Well,"  continued  the  Colonel,  with  an 
effort  to  speak  cheerfully,  "the  blow  has 
fallen." 

"So  I  hear,"  she  rejoined,  almost  in  a 
whisper.  "What  tremendous  readjustments 
the  heedless  young  may  cause  !  " 

"Yes,  but  we  must  n't  deny  them  the  right. 
The  eternal  sacrifice  of  youth  to  age  is  one 
of  the  most  pitiful  things  in  nature — human 
nature,  that  is.  The  animals  know  better." 

"Would  you  remove  all  opportunity  for  the 
development  of  character?  "  she  inquired,  with 
a  tinge  of  sarcasm. 

"No,  but  I  would  n't  deliberately  furnish  it. 
The  world  supplies  it  generously  enough,  I 
think.  Allison  did  n't  ask  to  be  born,"  he 
went  on,  with  a  change  of  tone,  "and  those 
who  brought  him  into  the  world  are  infinitely 


TKttfolte  ©loves 


187 


more  responsible  to  him  than  he  is  to 
them." 

"One-sided,"  returned  Madame,  abruptly. 
"And,  if  so,  it 's  the  only  thing  that  is.  What 
of  the  gift  of  life?" 

"Nothing  to  speak  of,"  he  responded  with 
a  cynicism  wholly  new  to  her.  "I  would  n't 
go  back  and  live  it  over,  would  you?  " 

"No,"  she  sighed,  "I  wouldn't.  I  don't 
believe  anyone  would,  even  the  happiest." 

"Too  much  character  development?  " 

"Yes,"  she  admitted,  with  a  shamefaced 
flush.  "  You  '11  have  a  chance  to  see,  now. 
It  will  be  right  under  your  nose." 

"No,"  he  said,  with  a  certain  sad  emphasis 
which  did  not  escape  her;  "it  won't.  I  shall 
be  at  a  respectful  distance." 

"Why,  Richard!"  she  cried,  half  rising 
from  her  chair;  "what  do  you  mean  ?  Are  n't 
you  going  to  live  with  them  in  the  old  home  ?  " 

The  Colonel  shook  his  head. 

"Why?  "she  demanded. 

The  Colonel  raised  his  hand  to  his  forehead 
in  a  mock  salute.  "Orders,"  he  said,  briefly. 
"  From  headquarters." 

"Has  Allison — "  she  began,  in  astonishment, 
but  he  interrupted  her. 

"No."  He  inclined  his  head  suggestively 
toward  the  house,  and  she  understood. 

"The  little  brute,"  murmured  Francesca. 
"Richard,  believe  me,  I  am  ashamed." 


at  a 

IDtetance 


I8g 


TCose  an&  Silver 


"Don't  bother,"  he  answered,  kindly.  "The 
boy  must  n't  know.  You  always  plan  every 
thing  for  me — where  shall  I  live  now  ?  " 

She  leaned  forward,  her  blue  eyes  shining. 
"Oh,  Richard,"  she  breathed,  "if  you  only 
would — if  you  could — come  to  Rose  and  me  ! 
We  'd  be  so  glad  ! " 

There  was  no  mistaking  her  sincerity,  and 
the  Colonel's  fine  old  face  illumined  with  pleas 
ure.  Merely  to  be  wanted,  anywhere,  brings 
a  certain  satisfaction. 

"  I  '11  come,"  he  returned,  promptly.  "  How 
good  you  are !  How  good  you  've  always 
been  !  I  often  wonder  what  I  should  ever 
have  done  without  you." 

He  turned  away  and,  lightly  as  a  passing 
cloud,  a  shadow  crossed  his  face.  Madame 
saw  how  hard  it  would  be  to  part  from  his  son, 
and,  only  in  lesser  degree,  his  old  home. 

"Richard,"  she  said,  "a  ship  was  sinking 
once  in  a  fog,  miles  out  of  its  course.  The  cap 
tain  ordered  the  band  to  play  and  all  the 
officers  put  on  their  dress  uniforms.  Another 
ship,  also  drifting,  signalled  in  answer  to  the 
music  and  all  were  saved." 

The  Colonel  rose  and  offered  his  hand  in  fare 
well.  "Thank  you,  Francesca,"  he  answered, 
deeply  moved.  "  I  put  on  my  white  gloves  the 
day  you  came  to  tell  me.  I  thank  you  now  for 
the  signal — and  for  saving  me." 

She  watched  him  as  he  went  down  the  road, 


IPdlbite  Cloves 


189 


tall,  erect,  and  soldierly,  in  spite  of  his  three 
score  and  ten.  "Three  of  us,"  she  said  to  her 
self,  "all  in  white  gloves/'  The  metaphor 
appealed  to  her  strongly. 

She  did  not  go  in  until  Isabel  appeared  in  the 
doorway,  list  in  hand,  and  prettily  perplexed 
over  the  problem  of  clothes.  Madame  slipped 
it  into  the  chatelaine  bag  that  hung  from  her 
belt.  "We  '11  go  over  it  with  Rose,"  she  said. 
"She  knows  more  about  clothes  than  I  do." 

"Have  you  told  Cousin  Rose?  " 

"No,"  answered  Madame,  avoiding  the  girl's 
eyes.  "  It 's  your  place  to  tell  her — not  mine/' 

When  Rose  came  down  to  dinner  that  night, 
she  was  gorgeously  attired  in  her  gown  of  old- 
gold  satin,  adorned  with  gold  lace.  The  last 
yellow  roses  of  the  garden  were  twined  in  her 
dark  hair,  and  the  rouge-stick,  that  faithful 
friend  of  unhappy  woman,  had  given  a  little 
needed  colour  to  her  cheeks  and  lips,  for  the 
first  time  in  her  life. 

"Cousin  Rose,"  began  Isabel,  a  little  abashed 
by  the  older  woman's  magnificence,  "  I  'm 
engaged — to  Allison." 

"  Really  ?  "  cried  Rose,  with  well-assumed 
astonishment.  "Come  here  and  let  me  kiss 
the  bride-to-be.  You  must  make  him  very 
happy,"  she  said,  then  added,  softly:  "  I  pray 
that  you  may." 

"  Everybody  seems  to  think  of  him  and  not 
of  me,"  Isabel  returned,  a  little  fretfully. 


HUin 
TOlbite 

(SIOVC0 


190 


®R>  IRose  ant)  Silver 


cet  Still 
to  Come 


"That 's  what  Aunt  Francesca  said,  and  Alli 
son's  father  seemed  to  think  more  about  my 
making  Allison  happy  than  he  did  about  my 
being  happy  myself." 

"That 's  because  the  only  way  to  win  happi 
ness  is  to  give  it,"  put  in  Madame.  "The  more 
we  give,  the  more  we  have." 

Conversation  lagged  at  dinner,  and  became, 
as  often,  a  monologue  by  Madame.  While 
they  were  finishing  their  coffee,  they  heard 
Allison's  well-known  step  outside. 

"  I  wonder  why  he  had  to  come  so  early," 
complained  Isabel.  "I  wanted  to  change  my 
dress.  I  did  n't  have  time  before  dinner." 

"He'll  never  know  it,"  Madame  assured  her. 
We  '11  excuse  you  dear,  if  you  're  through. 
Don't  keep  him  waiting." 

When  the  dining-room  door  closed,  Rose 
turned  to  Madame.  "Did  I " 

"Most  wonderfully." 

"But  the  hardest  part  is  still  to  come,"  she 
breathed,  sadly. 

"  '  I  was  ever  a  fighter,  so  one  fight  more. 
The  best  and  the  last '  ;  " 

Madame  quoted,  encouragingly. 

Rose  smiled — a  little  wan  smile — as  she 
pushed  back  her  chair.  "  Perhaps,"  she  said, 
"the  'peace  out  of  pain'  may  follow  me." 

She  went,  with  faltering  step,  toward  the 
other  room,  inwardly  afraid.  Another  hand 


TOflbite  Gloves 


191 


met  hers,  with  a  reassuring  clasp.  "One  step 
more,  Rose.  Now  then,  forward,  march,  all 
flags  unfurled." 

When  she  went  in,  Allison  came  to  meet  her 
with  outstretched  hands.  He  had  changed 
subtly,  since  she  saw  him  last.  Had  light 
been  poured  over  him,  it  would  have  changed 
him  in  much  the  same  way. 

"Golden  Rose/'  he  said,  taking  both  her 
hands  in  his,  "  tell  me  you  are  glad— say  that 
you  wish  me  joy." 

Her  eyes  met  his  clearly.  "I  do,"  she 
smiled.  "There  is  no  one  in  the  world  for 
whom  I  wish  joy  more  than  I  do  for  you." 

"And  I  say  the  same,"  chimed  in  Madame, 
who  had  closely  followed  Rose. 

"Dear  little  foster  mother,"  said  Allison, 
tenderly,  putting  a  strong  arm  around  her.  He 
had  not  yet  released  Rose's  hand,  nor  did  he 
note  that  it  was  growing  cold.  "I  owe  you 
everything,"  he  went  on;  "even  Isabel." 

He  kissed  her,  then,  laughing,  turned  to 
Rose.  "May  I?"  he  asked.  Without  wait 
ing  for  an  answer,  he  turned  her  face  to  his, 
and  kissed  her  on  the  lips. 

Cold  as  ice  and  shaken  to  the  depths  of  her 
soul,  Rose  stumbled  out  of  the  room,  murmur 
ing  brokenly  of  a  forgotten  letter  which  must 
be  immediately  written.  Madame  lingered 
for  the  space  of  half  an  hour,  talking  brightly 
of  everything  under  the  sun,  then  followed 


Bftto 


Iga  wiv  1Rose  ant> 


Bream 


Rose,  turning  in  the  doorway  as  she  went  out, 
to  say:  "Can't  you  even  thank  me  for  leaving 
you  alone  ?  " 

"Bless  her,"  said  Allison,  fondly.  "What 
sweet  women  they  are  !  " 

"Yes,"  answered  Isabel,  spitefully,  "espe 
cially  Rose." 

He  laughed  heartily.  "What  a  little  goose 
you  are,  sweetheart.  Kiss  me,  dear  —  dearest." 

"  I  won't,"  she  flashed  back,  stubbornly,  nor 
would  she,  until  at  last,  by  superior  strength, 
he  took  his  lover's  privilege  <Tom  lips  that 
refused  to  yield. 

That  night  he  dreamed  that,  for  a  single 
exquisite  instant,  Isabel  had  answered  him, 
giving  him  love  for  love.  Then,  strangely 
enough,  Isabel  became  Rose,  in  a  gown  of  gold, 
with  golden  roses  twined  in  her  hair. 


D 


XIV 

Gbirtietb  of  June 

INNER  that  night  had  been  rather  a  silent 
affair  at  Kent's,  as  well  as  at  Madame 
Bernard's.  Being  absorbed  in  his  own 
thoughts,  Allison  did  not  realise  how  unsociable 
he  was,  nor  that  the  old  man  across  the  table 
from  him  perceived  that  they  had  reached 
the  beginning  of  the  end. 

When  Allison  spoke,  it  was  always  of  Isabel. 
Idealised  in  her  lover's  sight,  she  stood  before 
him  as  the  one  "perfect  woman,  nobly  planned," 
predestined,  through  countless  ages,  to  be  his 
mate.  Colonel  Kent  merely  agreed  with  him  in 
monosyllables  until  Allison  became  conscious 
that  his  father  did  not  wholly  share  his  enthu 
siasm. 

"  I  wish  you  knew  her,  Dad,"  he  said,  regret 
fully.  "  You  '11  love  her  when  you  do." 

"  I  'm  willing  to,"  answered  the  Colonel, 
shortly.  "I  called  on  her  this  afternoon,"  he 
added,  after  a  brief  pause. 

Allison's  face  illumined.  "Was  she  there? 
Did  you  see  her?  " 


Hbsorbefc 
in  Ibis 
©wn 

Cbougbta 


194 


1Rose  anfc  Silver 


•Hot 


"Yes." 

"  Is  n't  she  the  loveliest  thing  that  was  ever 
made?" 

"  I  'm  not  prepared  to  go  as  far  as  that," 
smiled  the  Colonel,  "but  she  is  certainly  a 
very  pretty  girl." 

"She's  beautiful,"  returned  Allison,  with 
deep  conviction. 

The  Colonel  forebore  to  remind  him  that 
love  brings  beauty  with  it,  or  that  the  beauty 
which  endures  comes  from  the  soul  within. 

"Just  think,  Dad,"  Allison  was  saying,  "how 
lovely  she  '11  be  at  that  end  of  the  table,  with 
me  across  from  her  and  you  at  her  right." 

The  Colonel  shook  his  head,  then  cleared  his 
throat.  "Not  always,  lad,"  he  said,  kindly, 
"but  perhaps,  sometimes — as  a  guest." 

Allison's  fork  dropped  with  a  sharp  clatter 
on  his  plate.  "Dad !  What  do  you 
mean  ?  " 

"No  house  is  large  enough  for  two  families," 
repeated  the  Colonel,  with  an  unconscious, 
parrot-like  accent. 

"Why,  Dad  !  We  've  always  stood  together 
— surely  you  won't  desert  me  now?  " 

The  old  man's  eyes  softened  with  mist.  He 
could  not  trust  himself  to  meet  the  clear, 
questioning  gaze  of  his  son. 

"I  can't  understand,"  Allison  went  on, 
doubtfully.  "  Is  it  possible — could  she — did — 
Isabel ?  " 


Ube  Ubirtfetb  of  3une 


I9S 


"No"  said  the  Colonel,  firmly,  still  avoiding 
the  questioning  eyes.  "She  did  n't  !  " 

"Of  course  she  didn't,"  returned  Allison, 
fully  satisfied.  "She  could  n't—  she  's  not 
that  kind.  What  a  brute  I  was  even  to  think 
it  !  But  why,  Dad?  Please  tell  me  why  !  " 

"Francesca  asked  me  this  afternoon  if  I 
would  come  to  her  and  Rose,  after  the  —  after 
wards,  you  know,  and  I  promised.  " 

"  If  you  promised,  I  suppose  that  settles  it," 
remarked  Allison,  gloomily,  "but  I  wish  you 
had  n't.  I  can  understand  that  they  would 
want  you,  too,  for  of  course  they  '11  be  desper 
ately  lonely  after  Isabel  goes  away." 

A  certain  peace  crept  into  the  old  man's  sore 
heart.  Surely  there  was  something  to  live  for 
still. 

"  I  hope  you  did  n't  tell  Aunt  Francesca 
you  'd  stay  there  always,"  Allison  was  saying, 
anxiously. 

"No,"  answered  the  Colonel,  with  a  smile; 
"  there  was  no  limit  specified." 

"Then  we  '11  consider  it  only  a  visit  and  a 
short  one  at  that  —  just  until  they  get  a  little 
used  to  Isabel's  being  away.  This  is  your 
rightful  place,  Dad,  and  Isabel  and  I  both 
want  you  —  don't  ever  forget  that  !  " 

When  Allison  had  gone  in  search  of  his  be 
loved,  the  Colonel  sat  on  the  veranda  alone, 
accustomed,  now,  to  evenings  spent  thus. 
His  garden  promised  well,  he  thought,  having 


196  ®u>  iRose  anb  Stiver 

produced  two  or  three  sickly  roses  in  the  very 
untruth  first  Season0  Jhe  shrubs  and  trees  that  had 
survived  ten  years  of  neglect  had  been  pruned 
and  tied  and  would  doubtless  do  well  next 
year,  if  Isabel 

"  I  hope  he  '11  never  find  out,"  the  Colonel 
said  to  himself.  Then  he  remembered  that, 
for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  he  had  lied  to  his 
son,  and  took  occasion  to  observe  the  highly 
spectacular  effect  of  an  untruth  from  an  ha 
bitually  truthful  person. 

"He  never  doubted  me,  not  for  an  instant," 
mused  the  Colonel,  "but  it 's  just  as  well  that 
I  'm  going.  She  could  probably  manage  it,  if 
we  lived  in  the  same  house,  so  that  I  'd  have  to 
tell  at  least  one  lie  a  day,  and  I  'm  not  an  ex 
pert.  Perfection  might  come  with  practice — 
I  Ve  known  it  to — but  1  'm  too  old  to  begin." 

He  was  deeply  grateful  to  Francesca  for 
her  solution  of  the  problem  that  confronted 
him.  It  had  appeared  and  been  duly  solved  in 
the  space  of  half  an  hour.  She  had  been  his 
good  angel  for  more  than  thirty  years.  It 
might  be  very  pleasant  to  live  there,  after  he 
became  accustomed  to  the  change,  and  with 
Allison  so  near — why,  he  could  n't  be  half  as 
lonely  as  he  was  now.  So  his  thoughts 
drifted  into  a  happier  channel  and  he  was  ac 
tually  humming  an  old  song  to  himself  when  he 
heard  Allison's  step,  almost  at  midnight,  on  the 
road  just  beyond  the  gate. 


Ubirtfctb  of  June  197 


He  went  in  quietly,  closed  the  door,  and  was  *2  tbe 
in  his  own  room  when  Allison's  latch-key 
rattled  in  the  lock.  The  Colonel  took  pains  not 
to  be  heard  moving  about,  but  it  was  unneces 
sary,  for  Allison's  heart  was  beating  in  time 
with  its  own  music,  and  surging  with  the  name 
less  rapture  that  comes  but  once. 

Down  in  the  moon-lit,  dream-haunted  gar 
den,  Allison  waited  for  Isabel,  as  the  First 
Man  might  have  waited  for  the  First  Woman, 
in  another  garden,  countless  ages  ago.  Stars 
were  mirrored  in  the  lily-pool;  the  waning 
moon  swung  low.  The  roses  had  gone,  except 
a  few  of  the  late-blooming  sort,  but  the  memory 
of  their  fragrance  lingered  still  in  the  velvet 
dusk. 

No  music  came  from  the  quiet  house,  for 
Rose  had  not  touched  the  piano  since  That 
Night.  It  stood  out  in  his  remembrance  in 
capitals,  as  it  did  in  hers,  for  widely  different 
reasons.  Only  Isabel,  cherishing  no  foolish 
sentiment  as  to  dates  and  places,  could  have 
forgotten  That  Night. 

With  a  lover's  fond  fancy,  Allison  had  written 
a  note  to  Isabel,  asking  her  to  meet  him  in  the 
garden  by  the  lily-pool,  at  nine,  and  to  wear 
the  silver-spangled  gown.  It  was  already  past 
the  hour  and  he  had  begun  to  be  impatient, 
though  he  was  sure  she  had  received  the  note. 

A  cobweb  in  the  grass  at  his  feet  shone 


198 


©l&  tRose  an&  Stiver 


Hsabel'0 


ance 


faintly  afar — like  Isabel's  spangles,  he  thought. 
A  soft-winged  wayfarer  of  the  night  brushed 
lightly  against  his  cheek  in  passing,  and  he 
laughed  aloud,  to  think  that  a  grey  moth 
should  bring  the  memory  of  a  kiss.  Then, 
with  a  swift  sinking  of  the  heart,  he  remem 
bered  Isabel's  unvarying  coldness.  Never 
for  an  instant  had  she  answered  him  as 
Rose 

"Nonsense,"  he  muttered  to  himself,  angrily. 
"What  an  unspeakable  cad  I  am  ! " 

There  was  a  light  step  on  the  path  and  Isa 
bel  appeared  out  of  the  shadows.  She  was 
holding  up  her  skirts  and  seemed  annoyed. 
In  the  first  glance  Allison  noted  that  she  was 
not  wearing  the  spangled  gown. 

She  submitted  to  his  eager  embrace  and  en 
dured  his  kiss;  even  the  blindest  lover  could 
not  have  said  more.  Yet  her  coldness  only 
thrilled  him  to  the  depths  with  love  of  her,  as 
has  been  the  way  of  men  since  the  world 
began. 

"I  don't  understand  this  foolishness,"  she 
said,  fretfully,  as  she  released  herself  from  his 
encircling  arm.  "It  's  damp  and  chilly  out 
here,  and  I  '11  get  wet  and  take  cold." 

"  It  is  n't  damp,  darling,  and  you  can't  take 
cold.  Why  did  n't  you  wear  the  spangles  ?  " 

"Do  you  suppose  I  want  to  spoil  my  best 
gown  dragging  it  through  the  wet  grass  ?  " 

"The  grass  isn't  wet,  and,  anyhow,  you 


TObe  Ubirtietb  of  June  i99 


have  n  t  been  on  it — only  on  the  path.     Come     filue  anl> 

,  ,,      u        ,       J  ,     .      ,  „  Silver 

over  here  to  the  bench  and  sit  down. 

"  I  don't  want  to.     I  want  to  go  in." 

"All  right,  but  not  just  yet.  I  '11  carry 
you,  if  you  're  afraid  of  dampness."  Before 
she  could  protest,  he  had  picked  her  up  and 
laughingly  seated  her  on  the  bench  at  the  edge 
of  the  lily-pool. 

Isabel  smoothed  her  rumpled  hair.  "You've 
mussed  me  all  up,"  she  complained.  "Why 
can't  we  go  in  ?  Aunt  Francesca  and  Rose  are 
upstairs." 

"  Listen,  sweetheart.  Please  be  patient  with 
me  just  a  minute,  won't  you?  I  've  brought 
you  your  engagement  ring." 

"Oh,"  cried  Isabel,  delightedly.  "Let  me 
see  it ! " 

"  I  want  to  tell  you  about  it  first.  You  re 
member,  don't  you,  that  the  first  night  I  came 
here,  you  were  wearing  a  big  silver  pin — a  tur 
quoise  matrix,  set  in  dull  silver?  " 

"  I  've  forgotten." 

"Well,  I  have  n't.  Someway,  it  seemed  to 
suit  you  as  jewels  seldom  suit  anybody,  and 
you  had  it  on  the  other  night  when  you  pro 
mised  to  marry  me.  Both  times  you  were 
wearing  the  spangled  gown,  and  that 's  why  I 
asked  for  it  to-night,  and  why  I  've  had  your 
engagement  ring  made  of  a  turquoise."  • 

Isabel  murmured  inarticulately,  but  he  went 
on,  heedlessly:  "It's  made  of  silver  because 


200  ©i&  iRose  ant)  Silver 

©nis  tbe  you  're  my  Silver  Girl,  the  design  is  all  roses 
1  because  it  was  in  the  time  of  roses,  and  it 's  a 
turquoise  for  reasons  I  've  told  you.  Our 
initials  and  the  date  are  inside." 

Allison  slipped  it  on  her  finger  and  struck  a 
match  that  she  might  see  it  plainly.  Isabel 
turned  it  on  her  finger  listlessly. 

"Very  pretty/'  she  said,  in  a  small,  thin 
voice,  after  an  awkward  pause. 

"Why,  dearest,"  he  cried,  "don't  you  like 
it?" 

"It's  well  enough,"  she  answered,  slowly, 
"but  not  for  an  engagement  ring.  Every 
body  else  has  diamonds.  I  thought  you  cared 
enough  for  me  to  give  me  a  diamond,"  she  said, 
reproachfully. 

"  I  do,"  he  assured  her,  "and  you  shall  have 
diamonds — as  many  as  I  can  give  you.  Why, 
sweet,  this  is  only  the  beginning.  There  's  a 
long  life  ahead  of  us,  isn't  there?  Do  you 
think  I  'm  never  going  to  give  my  wife  any 
jewels  ?" 

"Aunt  Francesca  and  Rose  put  you  up  to 
this,"  said  Isabel,  bitterly.  "They  never  want 
me  to  have  anything." 

"They  know  nothing  whatever  about  it," 
he  replied,  rather  coldly,  taking  it  from  her 
finger  as  he  spoke.  "Listen,  Isabel.  Would 
you  rather  have  a  diamond  in  your  engagement 
ring?" 

"Of  course.     I  'd  be  ashamed  to  have  any- 


Ubfrttetb  of  June 


201 


body  know  that  this  was  my  engagement  ring." 

"All  right,"  said  Allison,  with  defiant  cheer 
fulness.  "You  shall  have  just  exactly  what 
you  want,  and,  to  make  sure,  I  '11  take  you  with 
me  when  I  go  to  get  it.  I  'm  sorry  I  made  such 
a  mistake." 

There  was  a  flash  of  blue  and  silver  in  the 
faint  light,  and  a  soft  splash  in  the  lily-pool. 
"There,"  he  went  on,  "it 's  out  of  your  way 
now." 

"You  didn't  need  to  throw  it  away,"  she 
said,  icily.  "I  didn't  say  I  didn't  want  it, 
nor  that  I  would  n't  wear  it.  I  only  said  I 
wanted  a  diamond." 

"It  could  be  found,  I  suppose,"  he  replied, 
thoughtfully,  ashamed  of  his  momentary  im 
pulse.  "  If  the  pool  were  drained " 

"That  would  cost  more  than  the  ring  is 
worth,"  Isabel  interrupted.  "Come,  let 's  go 
in." 

He  was  about  to  explain  that  a  very  good- 
sized  pool  could  be  drained  for  the  price  of  the 
ring,  but  fortunately  thought  better  of  it,  and 
was  bitterly  glad,  now,  that  he  had  thrown  it 
away. 

In  the  house  they  talked  of  other  things,  but 
the  thrust  still  lingered  in  his  consciousness, 
unforgotten. 

"  How  's  your  father?  "  inquired  Isabel,  in  a 
conversational  pause,  as  she  could  think  of 
nothing  else  to  say. 


©ut  of 
tbc  "Cday. 


2O2 


1Rose  an&  Silver 


witbfn 
tReason 


"All  right,  I  guess.    Why?" 

"  I  have  n't  seen  him  lately.  He  has  n't 
been  over  since  the  day  he  called  on  me/' 

"Guess  I  haven't  thought  to  ask  him  to 
come  along.  Dad  is  possessed  just  at  present 
by  a  very  foolish  idea.  They  've  told  you, 
haven't  they?" 

"No.    Told  me  what?" 

"Why,  that  after  we're  married,  he's  to 
come  over  here  to  live  with  Aunt  Francesca 
and  Rose,  and  give  us  the  house  to  ourselves." 

"  I  had  n't  heard,"  she  replied,  indifferently. 

"  I  don't  know  when  I  've  felt  so  badly  about 
anything,"  Allison  resumed.  "We  've  always 
been  together  and  we  've  been  more  like  two 
chums  than  father  and  son.  It's  like  taking 
my  best  friend  away  from  me,  but  I  know 
he  '11  come  back  to  us,  if  you  ask  him  to." 

"  Probably,"  she  assented,  coldly.  "  I  sup 
pose  we  '11  be  in  town  for  the  Winters,  won't  we, 
and  only  live  here  in  the  Summer?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  dear;  we  '11  see.  I  've  got  to 
go  to  see  my  manager  very  soon,  and  Dad 
asked  me  to  find  out  what  you  wanted  for  a 
wedding  present.  I  'm  to  help  him  select  it." 

"Can  I  have  anything  I  choose?"  she 
queried,  keenly  interested  now. 

"Anything  within  reason,"  he  smiled.  "  I  'm 
sorry  we  're  not  millionaires." 

"Could  I  have  an  automobile?  " 

"Perhaps.    What  kind?" 


ZTbe  ZTfoirtietb  of  June  2°3 

"A  big  red  touring  car,  with  room  for  four 
or  five  people  in  it  ?  " 

"I  '11  tell  him.  It  would  be  rather  nice  to 
have  one,  would  n't  it  ?  " 

"Indeed  it  would,"  she  cried,  clapping  her 
hands.  "Oh,  Allison,  do  persuade  him  to  get 
it,  won't  you  ?  " 

"  I  won't  have  to,  if  he  can.  I  've  never  had 
to  persuade  my  father  into  anything  he  could 
do  for  me." 

When  he  went  home,  Isabel  kissed  him,  of 
her  own  accord,  for  the  first  time.  It  was  a 
cold  little  kiss,  accompanied  with  a  whispered 
plea  for  the  red  automobile,  but  it  set  his  heart 
to  thumping  wildly,  and  made  him  forget  the 
disdained  turquoise,  that  lay  at  the  bottom 
of  the  lily-pool. 

Within  a  few  days,  Isabel  was  the  happy  pos 
sessor  of  an  engagement  ring  with  a  diamond  in 
it — a  larger,  brighter  stone  than  she  had  ever 
dreamed  of  having.  Colonel  Kent  had  also 
readily  promised  the  automobile,  though  he 
did  not  tell  Allison  that  he  should  be  obliged 
to  sell  some  property  in  order  to  acquire  a 
really  fine  car.  It  took  until  the  end  of  the 
month  to  make  the  necessary  arrangements, 
but  on  the  afternoon  of  the  thirtieth,  a  trum 
peting  red  monster,  bright  with  brass,  drew 
up  before  the  Kent's  door,  having  come  out 
from  town  on  its  own  power. 


204 


IRose  anfc  Stiver 


ttbe  ff  f  rat 


As  the  two  men  had  taken  a  brief  tour 
over  the  wonderful  roads  of  France,  with  Alli 
son  at  the  wheel,  he  felt  no  hesitation  in  trying 
an  unfamiliar  car.  The  old  throb  of  exultation 
came  back  when  the  monster  responded  to  his 
touch  and  chugged  out  of  the  driveway  on  its 
lowest  speed. 

He  turned  back  to  wave  his  hand  at  his 
father,  who  stood  smiling  on  the  veranda, 
with  the  chauffeur  beside  him.  "  I  '11  get 
Isabel,"  he  called,  "then  come  back  for  you." 

He  reached  Madame  Bernard's  without  acci 
dent  and  Isabel,  almost  wild  with  joy,  ran  out 
of  the  gate  to  meet  him  and  climbed  in.  Only 
Rose,  from  the  shelter  of  her  curtains,  saw  them 
as  they  went  away. 

"Where  shall  we  go?"  Isabel  asked.  She 
was  hatless  and  the  sun  dwelt  lovingly  upon  her 
shining  black  hair. 

"  Back  for  Dad.  He  's  waiting  for  us.  Do 
you  like  it,  dear?  " 

"  Indeed  I  do.  Oh,  so  much  !  It  was  lovely 
of  him,  was  n't  it?  He  would  n't  care,  would 
he,  if  we  took  a  little  ride  just  by  ourselves 
before  we  went  back  for  him  ?  " 

"Of  course  not,  but  we  can't  go  far  and 
we  '11  have  to  go  fast." 

"  I  love  to  go  fast.  I  've  never  been  fast 
enough  yet.  I  wonder  if  the  Crosbys  have  got 
their  automobile  ?  " 

"  I  heard  so,  but  I  have  n't  seen  it.     I  under- 


ttbe  ZTbirtietb  of  3une 


205 


stand  that  Romeo  is  learning  to  drive  it  in  the 
narrow  boundaries  of  the  yard." 

"What  day  of  the  month  is  it?  " 

"The  thirtieth.  There's  less  than  three 
months  to  wait  now,  darling — then  you  '11  be 
mine,  all  mine." 

"Then  this  is  the  day  the  Crosbys  were  going 
to  celebrate — it 's  the  anniversary  of  their 
uncle 's  death.  I  'm  glad  we  've  got  our 
automobile.  Can't  we  go  by  there?  It's 
only  three  miles,  and  I  'd  love  to  have  them 
see  us  go  by,  at  full  speed." 

Obediently,  Allison  turned  into  the  wind 
ing  road  which  led  to  Crosbys',  and,  to  please 
Isabel,  drove  at  the  third  speed.  Once  under 
way,  the  road  spun  dustily  backward  under 
the  purring  car,  and  the  wind  in  their  faces  felt 
like  the  current  of  a  stream. 

"Oh,"  cried  Isabel,  rapturously;  "is  n't  it 
lovely  ! " 

"  I  'm  almost  afraid  to  go  so  fast,  dear.  If 
there  should  be  another  car  on  this  road,  we 
might  collide  at  some  of  these  sharp  turns." 

"  But  there  is  n't.  There 's  not  another 
automobile  in  this  sleepy  little  town,  except 
the  Crosbys'.  It  isn't  likely  that  they're 
out  in  theirs  now,  on  this  road." 

But,  as  it  happened,  they  were.  After 
some  difficulties  at  the  start,  Romeo  had  engi 
neered  "The  Yellow  Peril"  out  through  a  large 
break  in  the  fence.  The  twins  wore  their 


Cvco  on 
tbe  TRoafc 


©It)  IRose  anfc  Silver 


brown  suits  with  tan  leather  trimmings,  and,  as 
control  planned  long  ago,  the  back  seat  of  the  machine 
was  partially  filled  with  raw  meat  of  the  sort 
most  liked  by  Romeo's  canine  dependents. 

Two  yellow  flags  fluttered  from  the  back  of 
the  driver's  seat.  One  had  the  initials  "C.  T." 
in  black,  on  the  other,  in  red,  was  "The  Yellow 
Peril."  The  name  of  the  machine  and  the 
monogram  were  strikingly  in  evidence  on  the 
doors  and  at  the  back,  where  a  choice  cut 
of  roast  beef,  uncooked,  dangled  temptingly 
by  a  strong  cord. 

Just  before  they  started,  Juliet  unfastened 
the  barn  door  and  freed  nineteen  starving  dogs, 
all  in  collars  suited  to  the  general  colour  scheme 
of  the  automobile,  and  bearing  the  initials: 
"C.  T."  When  they  sniffed  the  grateful 
odour  borne  on  the  warm  June  wind,  they 
plunged  after  the  machine  with  howls  and  yelps 
of  delight.  Only  Minerva  remained  behind, 
having  five  new  puppies  to  care  for. 

"Oh,  Romie,  Romie!"  shouted  Juliet,  in 
ecstasy.  "They  're  coming  !  See  !  " 

Romeo  looked  back  for  the  fraction  of  an 
instant,  saw  that  they  were,  indeed,  "coming," 
and  then  discovered  that  he  had  lost  control 
of  the  machine.  "Sit  tight,"  he  said,  to 
Juliet,  between  clenched  teeth. 

"I  am,"  she  screamed,  gleefully.  "Oh, 
Romie,  if  uncle  could  only  see  us  now  !  " 

"Uncle's    likely  to  see  us  very   soon,"  re- 


TOftttetb  of  June  207 


torted  Romeo  grimly,  "unless  I  can  keep  her 
on  the  road." 

But  Juliet  was  absorbed  in  the  joy  of  the 
moment  and  did  not  hear.  A  cloud  of  dust, 
through  which  gleamed  brass  and  red,  appeared 
on  the  road  ahead  of  them,  having  rounded 
the  curve  at  high  speed.  At  the  same  instant, 
Allison  saw  just  beyond  him,  the  screaming 
fantasy  of  colour  and  sound. 

"Jump!"  he  cried  to  Isabel.  "Jump  for 
your  life  !  " 

She  immediately  obeyed  him,  falling  in  a 
little  white  heap  at  the  roadside.  He  rose, 
headed  the  machine  toward  the  ditch  at  the 
right,  and  jumped  to  the  left,  falling  face  down 
in  the  road  with  his  hands  outstretched. 
Before  he  could  stir,  the  other  machine  roared 
heavily  over  him,  grazing  his  left  hand  and 
crushing  it  into  the  deep  dust. 

There  was  almost  an  instant  of  unbelievable 
agony,  then,  mercifully,  darkness  and  oblivion. 


208 


IDarfcneas 

and 
Silence 


XV 

"1bow  Sbe  Will  Come  to  flDe" 

THE  darkness  swayed  but  did  not  lift. 
There  was  a  strange  rhythm  in  its  move 
ment,  as  though  it  were  the  sea,  but  there 
was  no  sound.  Black  shadows  crept  upon 
him,  then  slowly  ebbed  away.  At  times  he  was 
part  of  the  darkness,  at  others,  separate  from 
it,  yet  lying  upon  it  and  wholly  sustained  by  it. 

At  intervals,  the  swaying  movement 
changed.  His  feet  sank  slowly  in  distinct 
pulsations  until  he  stood  almost  upright,  then 
his  head  began  to  sink  and  his  feet  to  rise. 
When  his  head  was  far  down  and  his  feet  al 
most  directly  above  him,  the  motion  changed 
again  and  he  came  back  gradually  to  the  hori 
zontal,  sinking  back  with  one  heart-beat  and 
rising  with  the  next — always  a  little  higher. 

How  still  it  was  !  The  silence  of  eternity  was 
in  that  all  compassing  dark,  which  reached  to 
the  uttermost  boundaries  of  space.  It  was  hol 
low  and  empty,  save  for  him,  rising  and  falling, 
rising  and  falling,  in  a  series  of  regular  move- 


Ibow  Sbe  Mill  Come  to 


209 


ments  corresponding  almost  exactly  to  the 

ticking  of  a  watch.  %£*£, 

A  faint,  sickening  odour  crept  through  the 
darkness,  followed  by  a  black  overwhelming 
shadow  which  threatened  to  engulf  him  in  its 
depths.  Still  swaying,  he  waited  for  it 
calmly.  All  at  once  it  was  upon  him,  but 
swiftly  receded.  He  seemed  to  sway  backward 
out  of  it,  and  as  he  looked  back  upon  it,  gath 
ering  its  forces  for  another  attack,  he  saw  that 
it  was  different  from  the  darkness  upon  which 
he  lay — that,  instead  of  black,  it  was  a  deep 
purple. 

The  odour  persisted  and  almost  nauseated 
him.  It  was  vaguely  familiar,  though  he  had 
never  before  come  into  intimate  contact  with 
it.  Was  it  the  purple  shadow,  that  ebbed  and 
flowed  so  strangely  upon  his  dark  horizon, 
growing  to  a  brighter  purple  with  each  move 
ment? 

The  purple  grew  very  bright,  then  deepened 
to  blue — almost  black.  Dancing  tongues  of 
flame  shot  through  the  darkness,  as  he  swung 
through  it,  up  and  down,  like  a  ship  moved  by 
a  heavy  ground  swell.  The  flames  took  col 
our  and  increased  in  number.  Violet,  orange, 
blue,  green,  and  yellow  flickered  for  an  instant, 
then  disappeared. 

The  darkness  was  not  quite  so  heavy,  but 
it  still  swayed.  The  javelins  of  flame  shot 
through  it  continually,  making  a  web  of  iri- 


210 


©16  IRose  an6  Silver 


H  TiCloman 
in  TObite 


descence.  Then  the  purple  shadow  approached 
majestically  and  put  them  out.  When  it 
retreated,  they  came  again,  but  the  colour 
was  fainter. 

The  yellow  flames  darted  toward  him  from 
every  conceivable  direction,  stabbing  him  like 
needles.  In  this  light,  the  purple  shadow 
changed  to  blue  and  began  to  grow  brighter. 
The  sickening  odour  was  so  strong  now  that 
he  could  scarcely  breathe.  The  blue  shadow 
warred  with  the  yellow  flames,  but  could  not 
put  them  out.  He  saw  now  that  the  shadow 
was  his  friend  and  the  flames  were  a  host  of 
enemies. 

All  the  little  stabbing  lights  suddenly  merged 
into  one.  He  was  surrounded  by  fire  that 
burned  him  as  he  swayed  back  and  forth, 
and  the  cool  shadows  were  gone.  The  light 
grew  intense  and  terrible,  but  he  could  not 
lift  his  hand  to  shade  his  eyes.  Slowly  the 
orange  deepened  to  scarlet  in  which  he  spun 
around  giddily  among  myriads  of  blood-red 
disks.  The  scarlet  grew  brighter  and  brighter 
until  it  became  a  white,  streaming  light.  All 
at  once  the  swaying  stopped. 

The  intensity  of  the  white  light  was  agreeably 
tempered  by  a  grey  mist.  Through  the  va 
pour,  he  saw  the  outlines  of  his  own  chiffonier, 
across  the  room.  A  woman  in  spotless  white 
moved  noiselessly  about.  Even  though  she 
did  not  look  at  him,  he  felt  a  certain  friendliness 


f>ow  Sbe  Mill  Gome  to 


211 


toward  her.  She  seemed  to  have  been  with 
him  while  he  swayed  through  the  shadow  and 
it  was  pleasant  to  know  that  he  had  not  been 
alone. 

On  the  table  near  the  window,  his  violin  lay 
as  he  had  left  it.  The  case  was  standing  in  a 
corner  and  his  music  stand  had  toppled  over. 
The  torn  sheets  of  music  rustled  idly  on  the 
floor,  and  he  wondered,  fretfully,  why  the 
woman  in  white  did  not  pick  them  up. 

As  if  in  answer  to  his  thought,  she  stooped, 
and  gathered  them  together,  quietly  sorting 
the  pages  and  putting  them  into  the  open 
drawer  that  held  his  music.  She  closed  the 
drawer  and  folded  up  his  music  stand  without 
making  a  sound.  She  seemed  far  removed 
from  him,  like  someone  from  another  world. 

Cloud  surrounded  her,  but  he  caught 
glimpses  of  her  through  it  occasionally.  She 
took  up  his  violin,  very  carefully,  put  it  into 
its  case,  and  carried  it  out  of  the  room.  He 
did  not  care  very  much,  but  it  seemed  rather 
an  impolite  thing  to  do.  He  knew  that  he 
would  not  have  stolen  a  violin  when  the  owner 
was  in  the  same  room. 

Soon  she  came  back  and  he  was  reassured. 
She  had  not  stolen  it  after  all.  She  might  have 
broken  it,  for  she  seemed  to  feel  very  sorry 
about  something.  She  was  wiping  her  eyes 
with  a  bit  of  white,  as  women  always  did  when 
they  cried. 


Vn  a  Gloub 


212 


IRose  ant)  Silver 


tdorse 

tban 

Sba&owa 

an&  fire 


It  was  not  necessary  for  her  to  cry,  on  ac 
count  of  one  broken  violin,  for  he  had  thou 
sands  of  them — Stradivarius,  Amati,  Cremona; 
everything.  Some  of  them  were  highly  col 
oured  and  very  rare  on  that  account.  He  had 
only  to  go  to  his  storehouse,  present  a  ticket, 
and  choose  whatever  he  liked — red,  green, 
yellow,  or  even  striped. 

Everybody  who  played  the  violin  needed  a 
great  many  of  them,  for  the  different  moods 
of  music.  It  was  obvious  that  the  dark  brown 
violin  with  which  he  played  slow,  sad  music 
could  not  be  used  for  the  Hungarian  Dances. 
He  had  a  special  violin  for  those,  striped  with 
barbaric  colour. 

The  woman  who  had  broken  one  of  his  vio 
lins  stood  at  the  window  with  her  back  toward 
him.  Her  shoulders  shook  and  from  time  to 
time  she  lifted  the  bit  of  white  to  her  eyes. 
It  was  annoying,  he  thought;  even  worse  than 
the  shadows  and  the  fire.  He  was  about  to  call 
to  her  and  suggest,  ironically,  that  she  had 
cried  enough  and  that  the  flowers  would  be 
spoiled  if  they  got  too  wet,  when  someone 
called,  from  the  next  room:  "Miss  Rose  ! " 

She  turned  quickly,  wiped  her  eyes  once 
more,  and,  without  making  a  sound,  went  out 
on  the  white  cloud  that  surrounded  her  half 
way  to  her  waist. 

He  tried  to  change  his  position  a  little  and 
felt  his  own  bed  under  him.  His  body  was 


1bow  Sbe  Mill  Come  to  /iDe  2i3 


stiff  and  sore,  but  he  had  the  use  of  it,  except 
his  left  arm.  Try  as  he  might,  he  could  not 
move  it,  for  it  was  weighted  down  and  it  hurt 
terribly. 

"Miss  Rose,  Miss  Rose,  Miss  Rose,  Miss 
Rose."  The  words  beat  hard  in  his  ears  like  a 
clock  ticking  loudly.  The  accent  was  on  the 
"Miss" — the  last  word  was  much  fainter. 
"Rose  Miss"  was  wrong,  so  the  other  must  be 
right,  except  for  the  misplaced  accent.  Did  the 
accent  always  come  on  the  first  beat  of  a 
measure?  He  had  forgotten,  but  he  would  ask 
the  man  at  the  storehouse  when  he  went  to  get 
the  striped  violin  for  the  Hungarian  Dances. 

His  left  hand  throbbed  with  unbearable 
agony.  The  room  began  to  spin  slowly  on  its 
axis.  There  was  no  mist  now,  or  even  a 
shadow,  and  every  sense  was  abnormally 
acute.  The  objects  in  the  whirling  room  were 
phenomenally  clear;  even  a  scratch  on  the  front 
of  his  chiffonier  stood  out  distinctly. 

He  could  hear  a  clock  ticking,  though  there 
was  no  clock  in  his  room.  Afar  was  the  sound 
of  women  sobbing — two  of  them.  Above  it  a 
strange  voice  said,  distinctly:  "There  is  not 
one  chance  in  a  thousand  of  saving  his  hand. 
If  I  had  nurses,  I  would  amputate  now,  before 
he  recovers  consciousness." 

The  words  struck  him  with  the  force  of  a 
blow,  though  he  did  not  fully  realise  what  they 
meant.  The  pain  in  his  left  arm  and  the  sick- 


Sense 
Bcute 


214 


©R>  IRose  anb  Silver 


Ube 


•Koimfc 


ening  odour  nauseated  him.  The  cool  black 
shadow  drowned  the  objects  in  the  room  and 
crept  upon  him  stealthily.  Presently  he  was 
swaying  again,  up  and  down,  up  and  down, 
in  the  all-encompassing,  all-hiding  dark. 

So  it  happened  that  he  did  not  hear  Colonel 
Kent's  ringing  answer:  "You  shall  not  ampu 
tate  until  every  great  surgeon  in  the  United 
States  has  said  that  it  is  absolutely  neces 
sary.  I  leave  on  the  next  train,  and  shall  send 
them  and  keep  on  sending  until  there  are  no 
more  to  send.  Until  a  man  comes  who  thinks 
there  is  a  chance  of  saving  it,  you  are  in  charge 
— after  that,  it  is  his  case." 

Day  by  day,  a  continuous  procession  came  to 
the  big  Colonial  house.  Allison  became  accus 
tomed  to  the  weary  round  of  darkness,  pain, 
sickening  odours,  strange  faces,  darkness,  and 
so  on,  endlessly,  without  pity  or  pause. 

The  woman  in  white  had  mysteriously  van 
ished.  In  her  place  were  two,  in  blue  and 
white,  with  queer,  unbecoming  caps.  They 
were  there  one  at  a  time,  always;  never  for 
more  than  a  few  minutes  were  they  together. 
When  the  fierce,  hot  agony  became  unendur 
able  for  even  a  moment  longer,  one  of  them 
would  lean  over  him  with  a  bit  of  shining  silver 
in  her  hand,  and  stab  him  sharply  for  an 
instant.  Then,  with  incredible  quickness, 
came  peace. 

Once,  when  two  strange  men  had  come  to- 


Ifcow  Sbe  TKftill  Come  to  UDe" 


gether,  and  had  gone  into  the  adjoining  room, 
he  caught  disconnected  fragments  of  conversa 
tion.  "  Hypersensitive  —  impossible  —  not  much 
longer  —  interesting  case."  He  wondered,  as 
he  began  to  sway  in  the  darkness  again,  what 
"hypersensitive"  meant.  Surely,  he  used  to 
know. 

Still,  it  did  not  matter  —  nothing  mattered 
now.  In  the  brief  intervals  of  consciousness, 
he  began  to  wonder  what  he  had  been  doing 
just  before  this  happened,  whatever  it  was.  It 
took  him  days  to  piece  out  the  disconnected 
memories  past  the  whirling  room,  the  woman 
•in  white  and  the  creeping  shadows,  to  the  red 
touring  car  and  Isabel. 

His  heart  throbbed  painfully,  held  though  it 
was  by  some  iron  hand,  icy  cold,  in  a  pitiless 
clutch.  Weakly,  he  summoned  the  blue  and 
white  woman  who  sat  in  a  low  chair  across  his 
room.  She  came  quickly,  and  put  her  ear  very 
close  to  his  lips  that  she  might  hear  what  he 
said. 

"Was—  she—  hurt?" 

"No,"  said  the  blue  and  white  woman,  very 
kindly.  "Only  slightly  bruised." 

The  next  day  he  summoned  her  again.  As 
before,  she  bent  very  low  to  catch  the  gasping 
words:  "Where  is—  my—  father?  " 

"  He  had  to  go  to  town  on  business.  He  will 
come  back  just  as  soon  as  he  can." 

"He—  is—  dead,"   said   Allison,   with   diffi- 


TEwo 

Questions 


216 


(S>U)  IRose  ant)  Stiver 


culty.      "Nothing    else  —  could    take  —  him  — 


—  now." 


"No,"  she  assured  him,  "you  must  believe 
me.  He  's  all  right.  Everybody  else  is  all 
right  and  we  hope  you  soon  will  be." 

"No  use  —  talking  of  —  it,"  he  breathed, 
hoarsely.  "I  know." 

Singly,  by  twos  and  even  threes,  the  strange 
men  continued  to  come  from  the  City.  Allison 
submitted  wearily  to  the  painful  examinations 
that  seemed  so  unnecessary.  Some  of  the 
men  seemed  kind,  even  sympathetic.  Others 
were  cold  and  impassive,  like  so  many  ma 
chines.  Still  others,  and  these  were  in  the 
majority,  were  almost  brutal. 

It  was  one  of  the  latter  sort  who  one  day 
drew  a  chair  up  to  the  side  of  the  bed  with 
a  scraping  noise  that  made  the  recumbent 
figure  quiver  from  head  to  foot.  The  man's 
face  was  almost  colourless,  his  bulging  blue 
eyes  were  cold  and  fish-like,  distorted  even 
more  by  the  strong  lenses  of  his  spectacles. 

"Better  have  it  over  with,"  he  suggested. 
"  I  can  do  it  now." 

"Do  what?  "  asked  Allison,  with  difficulty. 

"  Amputate  your  hand.   There  's  no  chance." 

The  blue  and  white  young  woman  then  on 
duty  came  forward.  "I  beg  your  pardon, 
Doctor,  but  Colonel  Kent  left  strict  orders  not 
to  operate  without  his  consent." 

The  strange  man  disdained  to  answer  the 


1bow  Sbe  Mill  Come  to 


217 


nurse,  but  turned  to  Allison  again.  "Do 
you  know  where  your  father  can  be  reached  by 
wire?" 

"  My  father — is  dead,"  Allison  insisted.  Ke 
closed  his  eyes  and  would  answer  no  more 
questions.  In  the  next  room,  he  heard  the 
nurse  and  the  doctor  talking  in  low  tones  that 
did  not  carry.  Only  one  word  rose  above  the 
murmur:  "delusion." 

Allison  repeated  it  to  himself  as  he  sank  into 
the  darkness  again,  wondering  what  it  meant 
and  of  whom  they  were  speaking. 

Slowly  he  recovered  from  the  profound 
shock,  but  his  hand  did  not  improve.  He  had 
an  idea  that  the  ceaseless  bandaging  and  un- 
bandaging  were  dangerous  as  well  as  painful, 
but  said  nothing.  He  knew  that  his  career  had 
come  to  its  end  before  it  had  really  begun, 
but  it  did  not  seem  to  affect  him  in  any  way. 
He  considered  it  unemotionally  and  imperson 
ally,  when  he  thought  of  it  at  all. 

Two  more  men  came  together.  One  was 
brutal,  the  other  merely  cold.  They  shook 
their  heads  and  went  away.  A  few  days  later, 
a  man  of  the  rare  sort  came;  a  gentle,  kindly, 
sympathetic  soul,  who  seemed  human  and 
real. 

After  the  examination  was  finished,  Allison 
asked,  briefly:  "Any  chance?" 

The  kindly  man  hesitated  for  an  instant, 
then  told  the  truth.  "  I  'm  afraid  not." 


Delusion 


218 


IRose  anb  Silver 


TZbe 


The  nurse  happened  to  be  out  of  the  room, 
none  the  less,  Allison  motioned  to  him  to  come 
closer.  Almost  in  a  whisper  he  said:  "Can 
you  give  me  anything  that  will  make  me  strong 
enough  to  write  half  a  dozen  lines  ?  " 

"Gould  no  one  else  write  it  for  you?  " 

"No  one." 

"Could  n't  I  take  the  message?" 

"Could  anyone  take  a  message  for  me  to  the 
girl  I  was  going  to  marry — now  ?  " 

"I  understand,"  said  the  other,  gently. 
"We  '11  see.  You  must  make  it  very  brief." 

When  the  nurse  came  back,  they  gave  him  a 
pencil,  propped  a  book  up  before  him,  and  fas 
tened  a  sheet  of  paper  to  it  by  a  rubber  band. 
After  the  powerful  stimulant  the  doctor 
administered  had  begun  to  take  effect,  Allison 
managed  to  write,  in  a  very  shaky,  almost 
illegible  hand: 

"Mv  DEAREST: 

"  My  left  hand  will  have  to  come  off.  As  I 
can't  ask  you  to  marry  a  cripple,  the  only  hon 
ourable  thing  for  me  to  do  is  to  release  you 
from  our  engagement.  Don't  think  I  blame 
you.  Good-bye,  darling,  and  may  God  bless  you. 

"A.  K." 

The  effort  exhausted  him  greatly,  but  the 
thing  was  done.  The  nurse  folded  it,  put  it 
into  an  envelope,  sealed  it,  and  took  the  pencil 
from  him. 


"1bow  Sbe  Mill  Come  to  flDe" 


2I9 


"  You  '11  let  me  address  it,  won't  you  ? 
she  asked. 

"Yes.  Miss  Isabel  Ross.  Anyone  in  the 
house  can  tell  you  where  —  anyone  will  take  it 
to  her.  Thank  you/'  he  added,  speaking  to 
the  doctor. 

That  night,  for  the  first  time,  the  situation 
began  to  affect  him  personally.  In  the  hours 
after  midnight,  as  the  forces  of  the  physical 
body  ebbed  toward  the  lowest  point,  those  of 
the  mind  seemed  to  increase.  Staring  at  the 
low  night  light,  that  by  its  feeble  flicker 
exorcised  the  thousand  phantoms  that  beset 
him,  he  could  think  clearly.  In  a  rocking  chair, 
across  the  room,  the  night  nurse  dozed,  with 
a  white  shawl  wrapped  around  her.  He  could 
hear  her  deep,  regular  breathing  as  she  slept. 

His  father  was  dead  —  he  knew  that  for  an 
absolute  fact,  and  wondered  why  the  two  kind 
women  and  the  endless,  varying  procession  of 
men  should  so  persistently  lie  to  him  about 
this  when  they  were  willing  to  tell  him  the 
truth  about  everything  else. 

He  also  knew  that,  sooner  or  later,  his  left 
hand  would  be  amputated  and  that  his  career 
would  come  to  an  inglorious  end  —  indeed,  the 
end  had  already  come.  The  ordeal  painfully 
shadowed  upon  his  horizon  was  only  the  final 
seal.  Fortunately  there  was  money  enough 
for  everything  —  he  would  want  pitifully  little 
for  the  rest  of  his  life. 


220 


IRose  an&  Stiver 


His  life  stretched  out  before  him  in  a  waste 

,  u  ..  ,   ,  . 

of  empty  years.  He  was  thirty,  now,  and  his 
father  had  lived  until  well  past  seventy;  might 
have  lived  many  years  more  had  he  not  died 
when  his  heart  broke  over  the  misfortunes  of 
his  idolised  son.  He  could  remember  the 
rumble  of  the  carriage  wheels  the  night  of  the 
funeral.  The  nurse  had  dozed  in  her  chair  just 
as  she  was  dozing  now,  while  downstairs  they 
carried  his  father  out  of  the  house  in  a  black 
casket  and  buried  him.  It  was  all  as  clear  as 
though  it  had  happened  yesterday,  instead  of 
ages  ago. 

A  clock,  somewhere  near  by,  chimed  three 
quick,  silvery  strokes.  With  the  last  stroke, 
the  clock  in  the  kitchen  struck  three,  also, 
in  a  different  tone  and  with  an  annoying  brisk 
ness  of  manner.  As  the  echo  died  away,  the 
old  grandfather's  clock  on  the  landing  boomed 
out  three  portentously  solemn  chimes.  It  was 
followed  almost  immediately  by  a  cheery, 
impertinent  little  clock,  insisting  that  it  was 
four  and  almost  time  for  sunrise. 

The  nurse  stirred  in  her  chair,  yawned,  and 
came  over  to  the  bed.  She  straightened  the 
blankets  with  a  practised  hand,  changed  his  hot 
pillow  for  a  fresh  one,  brought  him  a  drink  of 
cool  water,  and  went  back  to  her  chair  without 
having  said  a  word.  The  gentle  ministry  com 
forted  him  insensibly.  What  magic  there  was 
in  the  touch  of  a  woman's  hand  !  But,  in  the 


1bow  Sbe  Mill  Come  to  /IDe " 


221 


long  grey  years  ahead,  there  would  be  no 
woman,  unless — Isabel 

Sometime  that  afternoon,  or  early  in  the 
evening,  she  had  received  his  note.  It  was 
not  strange  that  they  had  not  allowed  her  to 
come  to  see  him,  because  no  one  had  seen  him 
but  the  doctors  and  nurses.  Even  Aunt  Fran- 
cesca,  whom  he  had  known  all  his  life,  had  not 
darkened  his  open  door. 

But  now,  Isabel  would  come — she  could  not 
help  but  come.  With  the  passing  of  the  fateful 
hour,  strength  began  to  return  slowly.  She 
would  come  to-morrow,  and  every  tick 
of  the  clock  brought  to-morrow  a  second 
nearer. 

A  steadily  increasing  warmth  came  into  his 
veins  and  thawed  the  ice  around  his  heart. 
The  cold  hand  that  had  held  it  so  long  merci 
fully  loosened  its  fingers.  He  turned  his  face 
toward  the  Eastern  window,  that  he  might 
watch  for  the  first  faint  glow. 

A  sing1^,  long,  deepening  shadow  struck 
across  the  far  horizon  like  the  turning  out  of  a 
light.  Almost  immediately,  the  distant  East 
brightened.  Day  was  coming — the  sun,  and 
Isabel. 

With  the  first  hint  of  colour,  hope  dawned 
in  his  soul,  changing  to  certainty  as  the  light 
increased.  It  was  not  in  the  way  of  things 
that  he,  who  had  always  had  everything, 
should  at  one  fell  stroke  be  left  desolate. 


2>awns 


222 


IRose  ant)  Silver 


Out  of  the  wreckage  there  was  one  thing  he 
might  keep — Isabel. 

He  laughed  at  the  thought  that  she  would 
accept  her  release.  What  would  he  have  done 
he  asked  himself,  were  it  she  instead  of  him  ? 
Could  mutilation,  or  even  death,  change  his 
love  for  her?  He  was  equally  sure  that  hers 
could  not  be  changed. 

It  was  fortunate  that  she  was  saved — that  it 
was  he  instead  of  Isabel.  She  had  pretty  hands 
— such  dear  hands  as  men  have  loved  and 
kissed  since,  back  in  the  garden,  the  First 
Woman  gave  hers  to  the  First  Man,  that  he 
might  lead  her  wheresoever  he  would. 

In  the  midst  of  the  wreckage,  he  perceived 
a  divine  compensation,  for  Isabel  would  not 
fail  him — she  could  not  fail  him  now.  Trans 
figured  by  tenderness,  her  coldness  changed  to 
the  utmost  yielding,  to-morrow  would  bring 
him  his  goddess,  a  deeply-loving  woman  at  last. 

"How  she  will  come  to  me,"  he  said  to  him 
self,  feeling,  in  fancy,  her  soft  arms  around  him, 
and  her  warm  lips  on  his,  while  the  life-cur 
rent  flowed  steadily  from  her  to  him  and  made 
him  a  man  again,  not  a  weakling.  His  heart 
beat  with  a  joy  that  was  almost  pain,  for  he 
could  feel  her  intoxicating  nearness  even  now. 
Perhaps  her  sweet  eyes  would  overflow  with 
the  greatness  of  her  love  and  her  tears  would 
fall  upon  his  face  when  she  knelt  beside  him, 
to  lay  her  head  upon  his  breast. 


"Dow  Sbe  Mill  Come  to  /IDe"          223 

"  How  she  will  come  to  me  ! "  he  breathed,  in 
ecstasy.  "Ah,  how  she  will  come  ! " 

And  so,  smiling,  he  slept,  as  the  first  shaft  of 
sun  that  brought  his  dear  To-Morrow  fell  full 
upon  his  face. 


224 


XVI 

1bow  flsabel  Came 

MADAME  BERNARD  and  Rose  were  so 
deeply  affected  by  Allison's  misfortune 
that  they  scarcely  took  note  of  Isabel's  few 
bruises,  greatly  to  that  young  woman's  disgust. 
She  chose  to  consider  herself  in  the  light  of  a 
martyr  and  had  calmly  received  the  announce 
ment  that  Allison's  left  hand  would  probably 
have  to  be  amputated. 

None  of  them  had  seen  him,  though  the  two 
older  women  were  ready  to  go  at  any  hour  of 
the  day  or  night  they  might  be  needed  .  asked 
for.  Isabel  affected  a  sprained  ankle  and 
limped  badly  when  anyone  was  looking. 
Once  or  twice  she  had  been  seen  to  walk 
almost  as  usual,  though  she  did  not  know  it. 

The  upper  hall,  and,  occasionally,  the  other 
parts  of  the  house,  smelled  of  the  various 
liniments  and  lotions  with  which  she  anointed 
herself.  She  scorned  the  suggestion  that  she 
should  stay  in  bed,  for  she  was  quite  comfort 
able  upon  a  couch,  in  her  most  becoming  negli- 


1bow  Ifsabel  Came 


225 


gee,  with  a  novel  and  a  box  of  chocolates  to 
bear  her  company. 

At  first,  she  had  taken  her  meals  in  her 
own  room,  but,  finding  that  it  was  more 
pleasant  to  be  downstairs  with  the  others  for 
luncheon  and  dinner,  managed  to  go  up  and 
down  the  long  flight  of  stairs  twice  each  day. 

Placid  as  she  was,  the  table  was  not  a  cheer 
ful  place,  for  the  faces  of  the  other  two  were 
haggard  and  drawn,  and  neither  made  more 
than  a  pretence  of  eating.  Daily  bulletins 
came  from  the  other  house  as  to  Allison's 
condition,  and  Madame  was  in  constant  com 
munication  by  telegraph  with  Colonel  Kent. 
She  kept  him  reassured  as  much  as  possible, 
and  did  not  tell  him  of  Allison's  ineradicable 
delusion  that  his  father  was  dead. 

Allison's  note  was  given  to  Isabel  at  luncheon 
the  day  after  it  was  written,  having  been  de 
layed  in  delivery  the  night  before  until  after 
she  was  asleep.  With  it  was  a  letter  from  her 
mother,  which  had  come  in  the  noon  mail. 

She  opened  Allison's  note  first,  read  it,  and 
put  it  back  into  the  envelope.  Her  mother's 
letter  was  almost  equally  brief.  That,  too, 
she  returned  to  its  envelope  without  comment. 

"How  is  your  mother,  Isabel?"  inquired 
Madame,  having  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  bold, 
dashing  superscription  which  was  familiar, 
though  infrequent. 

"She 's  all  right/'  Isabel  answered,  breaking 


VI  WO 

ftotes 


226 


<9tt>  IRose  an&  Silver 


•Release* 


open  a  hot  muffin.  "  It 's  funny  that  it  should 
come  at  the  same  time  as  the  other/' 

"  Why  ?  "  asked  Rose,  merely  for  the  sake  of 
making  conversation. 

"Because  just  as  Mamma  writes  to  tell  me 
that  marriage  is  slavery,  but  that  if  he  can  take 
care  of  me  and  Aunt  Francesca  approves  of 
him,  it  will  be  all  right,  Allison  writes  and 
releases  me  from  the  engagement." 

"Poor  boy  ! "  sighed  Madame. 

"I  don't  know  why  you  should  say  'poor 
boy/ "  Isabel  observed,  rather  fretfully. 
"He's  not  very  ill  if  he  can  write  letters. 
I  'm  sure  I  don't  feel  like  writing  any." 

"  I  was  n't  thinking  of  that,"  said  Madame, 
half  to  herself. 

"And  as  for  his  releasing  me,"  Isabel  went 
on,  coolly,  "  I  'm  glad  he  was  decent  enough  to 
do  it  and  save  me  the  trouble  of  releasing 
myself." 

Rose  got  to  her  feet  somehow,  her  face 
deathly  white.  "Do  you  mean,"  she  cried, 
"  that  you  would  think  for  a  minute  of  accept 
ing  release?" 

"Why,  certainly,"  the  girl  replied,  in  aston 
ishment.  "Why  not?  He  says  himself  that 
he  can't  ask  me  to  marry  a  cripple." 

Rose  winced  visibly.  "  Isabel ! "  she 
breathed.  "Oh,  Isabel!" 

"My  dear,"  said  Madame,  with  such  kind 
ness  as  she  could  muster,  "have  you  for- 


t>ow  flsabel  Came  227 

gotten  that  he  saved  you  from  death,  or 
worse  ?  " 

"  He  did  n't  do  anything  for  me  but  to  tell  me 
to  jump.  I  did  more  for  him  than  that. 
Nobody  seems  to  think  it  was  anything  for  me 
to  get  up  out  of  the  dust,  with  my  best  white 
dress  all  ruined  and  my  face  scratched  and  my 
ankle  sprained  and  one  arm  bleeding,  and  help 
the  Crosbys  carry  a  heavy  man  to  their  ma 
chine  and  lay  him  on  the  back  seat." 

"  I  thought  the  Crosbys  carried  him,"  put  in 
Madame.  "They  're  strong  enough  to  do  it, 
I  should  think." 

"Well,  I  helped.  I  had  to  take  all  that 
nasty  raw  meat  out  of  the  back  seat  and  throw 
it  out  in  the  ditch  to  the  dogs,  and  stand  up  all 
the  way  home,  bruised  as  I  was,  to  keep  him 
from  falling  off  the  seat.  We  were  in  a  perfect 
bedlam  there  for  a  while,  but  it  does  n't  seem 
to  make  any  difference  to  anybody.  Nobody 
cares  what  happens  to  me." 

"Besides,"  she  went  on,  with  her  voice 
raised  to  a  high  pitch  by  excitement,  "  I  don't 
see  why  I  should  be  expected  to  marry  a  man 
with  only  one  hand.  He  can't  play  any  more, 
and  if  he  can't  play,  how  can  he  make  any 
money  to  take  care  of  me,  even  if  I  should  tie 
myself  to  him  for  life  ?  Do  you  expect  me  to 
take  in  washing  and  take  care  of  him  ?  " 

"Isabel,"  said  Madame,  coldly,  "please  stop 
talking  so  loudly  and  please  listen  for  a 


228 


IRose  ant>  Silver 


Bnger 


moment.  Nobody  expects  you  to  marry  a  man 
whom,  for  any  reason  on  earth,  you  do  not  love 
well  enough  to  marry.  Kindly  consider  that 
as  something  to  be  settled  in  accordance  with 
your  own  wishes  and  desires." 

"Certainly,"  interrupted  the  girl.  "I'd 
like  to  see  anybody  force  me  to  marry 
him  ! " 

Madame  compressed  her  lips  into  a  thin, 
tight  line,  and  her  face  became  stern,  even  hard. 
She  clenched  her  small  hands  tightly  and  her 
breath  came  quickly.  A  red  spot  burned  on 
either  cheek. 

Never  having  seen  Madame  angry  before, 
Rose  was  almost  frightened.  She  herself  was 
not  angry,  but  hurt — for  him.  At  the  moment 
she  heard  of  the  accident,  her  love  for  him 
had  transcended  the  bounds  of  self  and  merged 
into  prayer  for  him  and  for  his  good,  whatever 
that  might  prove  to  be. 

"Isabel,"  said  Rose,  very  softly,  "will  you 
do  one  thing  for  me?  " 

"What?  "  Isabel  demanded,  suspiciously. 

"Listen,  dear.  For  me,  if  not  for  him, 
will  you  go  to  him,  and — well,  simply  be 
kind?  Don't  let  him  think  that  this  terrible 
thing  has  separated  him  from  you  or  changed 
your  love.  Wait  until  he  is  strong  and  well 
again  before  you  tell  him.  Will  you,  please  ?  " 

Isabel's  flushed  face  took  on  the  expression  of 
outraged  virtue.  "  I  don't  know  why  I  should 


1bow  Isabel  Came 


229 


be  expected  to  lie,"  she  remarked  evasively, 
with  a  subtle  change  of  manner. 

Madame  Bernard  cleared  her  throat.  "Your 
love  was  a  lie/'  she  said,  in  a  tone  that  neither 
of  them  had  ever  heard  her  use  before.  "One 
more  won't  matter." 

Isabel  fidgeted  in  her  chair  and  nervously 
tapped  the  edge  of  her  plate  with  her  fork. 
"  I  have  n't  heard  anybody  say,"  she  began, 
with  the  air  of  one  scoring  a  fine  point,  "  that 
his  father  does  n't  love  him,  and  yet  he  has  n't 
gone  near  him — has  n't  even  seen  him  since 
we  were  hurt.  If  Colonel  Kent  can  stay  away 
from  him,  I  don't  know  why  I  can't." 

The  argument  seemed  unanswerable,  for 
neither  Madame  nor  Rose  spoke.  They  sat 
with  averted  eyes  until  the  silence  became 
oppressive,  and  Isabel,  with  ostentatious  diffi 
culty,  pushed  back  her  chair  and  limped  pain 
fully  out  of  the  room. 

When  she  had  locked  her  own  door,  she  was 
more  at  ease,  and  began  to  survey  her  unpleas 
ant  situation.  Nobody  seemed  to  consider  her 
at  all — it  was  only  Allison,  and  everything  and 
everybody,  apparently,  must  be  sacrificed  for 
him.  Just  because  she  had  promised  to  marry 
him,  when  he  had  both  hands,  they  wanted 
her  to  go  on  with  it,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  he 
saw  it  was  impossible. 

Isabel  sighed  heavily.  Nobody  knew  how 
keenly  disappointed  she  was.  She  had  written 


Hlltaon! 


an&  Silver 


t°  her  few  friends,  told  them  about  her  engage 
ment  ring,  the  plans  made  for  her  trousseau, 
the  promised  touring  car,  and  the  brilliant 
social  career  that  lay  before  her  as  the  wife 
of  a  famous  violinist. 

She  pictured  a  triumphal  tour  from  city  to 
city,  with  the  leaders  of  fashion  everywhere 
vying  with  each  other  in  entertaining  them  — 
or,  at  least,  her.  It  would,  of  course,  be  neces 
sary  for  Allison  to  play  occasionally  in  the 
evening  and  they  would  miss  a  great  deal  on 
that  account,  but  her  days  would  be  free,  and 
she  could  cancel  all  her  own  social  obligations 
by  complimentary  tickets  and  suppers  after 
the  concerts. 

She  had  planned  it  all  as  she  took  lazy 
stitches  in  her  dainty  lingerie.  Aunt  Francesca 
and  Rose  had  been  helping  her,  but  the  whole 
thing  had  stopped  suddenly.  It  seemed  rather 
selfish  of  them  not  to  go  on  with  it,  for  lingerie 
was  always  useful,  and  even  though  she  should 
not  marry  Allison,  it  was  not  at  all  improbable 
that  she  would  marry  someone  else. 

If  she  could  find  anybody  who  had  plenty 
of  money  and  would  be  good  to  her,  she  knew 
that  she  would  encounter  no  parental  opposi 
tion,  in  spite  of  Mrs.  Ross's  pronounced  views 
upon  the  slavery  of  matrimony. 

Allison  had  been  very  decent  in  releasing  her 
from  her  awkward  predicament.  He  had  even 
arranged  it  so  that  no  answer  was  necessary 


t)ow  Usabel  Came  231 


and  she  need  not  even  see  him  again.    She  had     Htter  tbe 
the  natural  shrinking  of  the  healthy  young 
animal  from  its  own  stricken  kind.     It  would 
be  much  nicer  not  to  see  him  again. 

But,  if  he  could  write  letters  now,  it  would 
not  be  long  before  he  would  be  able  to  come 
over,  though  his  hand  had  not  yet  been  taken 
off.  It  was  too  bad,  for  everything  had  been 
very  pleasant  until  the  accident.  She  had 
missed  Allison's  daily  visits  and  had  probably 
lost  the  touring  car,  though  as  she  had  taken 
pains  to  find  out,  it  had  fallen  into  the  ditch 
and  had  been  injured  very  little. 

Aunt  Francesca  and  Rose  had  been  queer 
ever  since  it  happened.  After  Colonel  Kent  and 
the  servants  and  the  twins  had  lifted  Allison 
out  of  "The  Yellow  Peril"  and  carried  him 
up  to  his  own  room  on  an  improvised  stretcher, 
while  someone  else  was  telephoning  for  every 
doctor  in  the  neighbourhood,  the  twins  had 
taken  her  home.  She  had  insisted  upon  their 
helping  her  up  the  steps,  and  as  soon  as  Aunt 
Francesca  and  Rose  heard  the  news,  they  had 
paid  no  attention  to  her  at  all,  but,  with  one 
voice,  had  demanded  that  the  twins  should 
take  them  to  Kent's  immediately. 

They  had  gone  without  even  stopping  for 
their  hats,  and  left  her  wholly  to  the  servants. 
Even  when  they  had  come  home,  late  at  night, 
in  their  own  carriage,  it  was  over  half  an  hour 
before  Aunt  Francesca  came  to  her  room,  so 


232 


IRose  anfc  Stiver 


overburdened  with  selfish  grief  that  she  did  not 
even  listen  to  the  recital  of  Isabel's  numerous 
bruises. 

Perhaps  it  would  be  best  to  go  away,  though 
the  city  was  terrible  in  Summer,  and  she  had 
only  money  enough  to  take  her  to  the  hotel 
where  her  mother  retained  a  suite  of  three 
rooms.  If  Aunt  Francesca  and  Rose  would 
leave  her  alone  in  the  house  long  enough,  and 
she  could  pack  a  suit-case  and  get  the  carriage 
just  in  time  to  take  her  to  the  train,  she  could 
write  a  formal  note  and  ask  to  have  the  rest  of 
her  things  sent  by  express.  If  there  were  a  late 
train,  or  one  very  early  in  the  morning,  she 
could  probably  manage  it,  even  without  the 
carriage,  but,  on  consulting  the  time-table, 
she  found  that  trains  did  not  run  at  hours 
suitable  for  escape. 

However,  it  was  just  as  well  to  pack  while  she 
had  time.  She  could  keep  the  suit-case  hidden 
until  the  auspicious  moment  arrived.  1  1  would 
only  take  a  moment  to  open  it  and  sweep  her 
toilet  articles  into  it  from  the  top  of  her  dresser. 

She  had  just  taken  a  fresh  shirtwaist  out  of 
the  drawer  when  there  was  a  light,  determined 
rap  at  the  door.  When  she  opened  it,  she  was 
much  astonished  to  see  Aunt  Francesca  come 
in,  dressed  for  a  drive. 

"Are  you  almost  ready,  Isabel?"  she  asked, 
politely. 

"Ready,"  gasped  the  girl.    "For  what?" 


1bow  flsabel  Came 


233 


It  seemed  for  the  moment  as  though  she  had 
been  anticipated  in  her  departure  and  was 
about  to  be  put  out  of  the  house. 

"To  drive  over  to  Kent's,"  answered  Ma 
dame,  imperturbably.  From  her  manner  one 
would  have  thought  the  drive  had  been  long 
planned. 

Isabel  sat  down  on  her  bed.  "I'm  not 
going/'  she  said. 

"Oh,  yes,  you  are,"  returned  Madame,  in  a 
small,  thin  voice.  "You  may  go  in  your  tea 
gown  and  slippers  if  you  prefer,  but  I  will  wait 
until  you  dress,  if  you  are  quick  about 
it." 

"  I  won't,"  Isabel  announced,  flatly.  "  I  'm 
sick.  You  know  I  'm  all  bruised  up  and  I 
can't  walk." 

"  You  can  walk  down-stairs  and  it 's  only  a 
few  steps  farther  to  the  carriage.  I  tele 
phoned  over  to  ask  if  he  would  see  you,  and  the 
nurse  said  that  he  would  be  very  glad  to  see 
you — that  he  had  been  asking  all  day  why  you 
did  not  come.  The  carriage  is  waiting  at  the 
door,  so  please  hurry." 

Isabel  was  head  and  shoulders  taller  than  the 
determined  little  lady  who  stood  there,  wait 
ing,  but  there  was  something  in  her  manner 
that  demanded  immediate  obedience.  Sul 
lenly,  Isabel  began  to  dress.  If  Aunt  Fran- 
cesca  went  with  her,  it  would  not  be  necessary 
to  say  much.  She  caught  at  the  thought  as 


234 


IRose  ant)  Silver 


•BO 

•Retreat 
possible 


though  she  were  drowning  and  the  proverbial 
straw  had  floated  into  reach. 

She  took  her  time  about  dressing,  but  Ma 
dame  said  nothing.  She  simply  stood  there, 
waiting,  in  the  open  door,  until  the  last  knot 
was  tied,  the  last  pin  adjusted,  and  the  last 
stray  lock  brushed  into  place. 

Isabel  limped  ostentatiously  all  the  way 
down-stairs  and  had  to  be  assisted  into  the 
carriage.  During  the  brief  drive  neither 
spoke.  The  silence  was  unbroken  until  they 
reached  the  door  of  Allison's  room,  then  Ma 
dame  said,  in  a  low  tone:  "The  carriage  will 
call  for  you  in  an  hour.  Remember  he  loves 
you,  and  be  kind." 

Up  to  that  moment,  Isabel  had  not  sus 
pected  that  she  would  be  obliged  to  see  him 
alone.  She  was  furious  with  Aunt  Francesca 
for  thus  betraying  her,  but  no  retreat  was  pos 
sible.  The  nurse  smilingly  ushered  her  in, 
passed  her  almost  on  the  threshold,  and  went 
out,  quietly  closing  the  door. 

Allison,  as  eager  as  a  boy  of  twenty,  had  half 
risen  in  bed.  The  injured  hand  was  hidden 
by  the  sheet,  but  the  other  was  outstretched 
in  welcome.  "Isabel,"  he  breathed.  "My 
Isabel ! " 

Isabel  did  not  move.  "How  do  you  do?  " 
she  said.,  primly. 

"  I  'm  sorry  I  can't  get  you  a  chair,  dear. 
Come  close,  won't  you  ?  " 


1bow  flsabel  Came  235 


Isabd  limped  painfully  to  the  chair  that  was 
farthest  from  him,  dragged  it  over  to  the  bed, 
and^$aj;  down — just  out  of  his  reach.  Below, 
the  rumble  of  wheels  announced  that  Madame 
had  gone  back  home.  Unless  she  walked, 
Isabel  was  stranded  at  Kent's  for  a  full 
hour. 

"My  note,"  Allison  was  saying.  "You  got 
it,  didn't  you?" 

"Yes.  It  came  while  I  was  at  luncheon 
to-day." 

It  flashed  upon  him  for  an  instant  that  the 
reality  was  disappointing,  that  this  was  not  all 
as  he  had  dreamed  it  would  be,  but  pride  bade 
him  conceal  his  disappointment  as  best  he 
could. 

"  You  were  hurt,"  he  said,  tenderly.  "  I  'm 
so  sorry." 

"  Yes.     I  was  hurt  quite  a  good  deal." 

"But  you're  all  right  now,  and  I'm  so 
glad!" 

"Thank  you,"  she  answered,  listlessly. 

Her  eyes  roved  about  the  room,  observing 
every  detail  of  furniture  and  ornament.  It 
was  old-fashioned,  and  in  a  way  queer,  she 
thought.  She  was  glad  that  she  would  never 
have  to  live  there. 

Allison  watched  her  eagerly.  Like  a  way 
farer  in  the  desert  thirsting  for  water,  he  longed 
for  her  tenderness ;  for  one  unsought  kiss,  even 
in  farewell.  His  pride  sustained  him  no 


SNsap* 
pointing 


236 


IRose  anfc  Stiver 


feoping 

Rgainst 


longer.  "Dear,"  he  pleaded,  like  the  veriest 
beggar;  "won't  you  kiss  me  just  once?  " 

Isabel  hesitated.  "It  isn't  proper,"  she 
murmured,  "now  that  we  are  no  longer 
engaged.  I  'm  sorry  you  got  hurt/'  she  added, 
as  an  afterthought. 

Allison's  face  paled  suddenly.  So,  she  ac 
cepted  her  release  !  Then  eager  justification 
of  her  made  him  wonder  if  by  any  chance 
she  could  have  misunderstood. 

"Dearest,"  he  said,  with  cold  lips,  "did  you 
think  for  a  single  instant  that  I  wanted  to  re 
lease  you?  I  did  it  because  it  was  the  only 
thing  an  honourable  man  could  do  and  I 
would  n't  let  pity  for  me  hold  you  to  a  promise 
made  in  love.  It  was  n't  that  I  did  n't  want 
you.  I  've  wanted  you  every  day  and  every 
hour.  Only  God  knows  how  I  've  wanted  you 
and  shall  want  you  all  the  rest  of  my  life, 
unless " 

He  paused,  hoping,  for  the  space  of  a  heart 
beat,  that  the  dream  might  come  true. 

But  Isabel  did  not  move  from  her  chair. 
She  surveyed  the  opposite  wall  for  a  few 
moments  before  she  spoke.  "It  was  honour 
able,"  she  said,  in  a  more  friendly  tone.  "Of 
course  it  was  the  only  thing  you  could  do." 

"Of  course,"  he  echoed,  bitterly. 

Isabel  rose,  went  to  the  foot  of  the  bed,  and 
leaned  upon  it,  facing  him.  "  I  'm  afraid 
I  've  stayed  too  long,"  she  said.  "  I  think 


f>ow  Usabel  Came 


237 


I  'd  better  go.  I  can  wait  downstairs  for  the 
carriage." 

Allison  did  not  answer.  His  eyes  burned 
strangely  in  his  white  face,  making  her  vaguely 
uncomfortable  and  afraid.  She  turned  the 
diamond  ring  upon  her  finger  and  slowly 
slipped  it  off. 

"  I  suppose  I  must  give  this  back,"  she  said, 
reluctantly.  "  I  must  n't  wear  it  now." 

"Why  not?  "  he  asked  huskily. 

"  Because  it  does  n't  mean  anything — 
now." 

"  It  never  did.     Keep  it,  Isabel." 

"Thank  you,"  she  said,  calmly,  putting  it 
back,  but  on  the  middle  finger.  "I  must  go 
now.  I  hope  you  '11  get  along  all  right." 

"Wait  just  a  minute,  please."  He  rang  a 
bell  that  was  on  a  table  within  his  reach,  and 
the  nurse  came  in.  "Please  bring  me  my 
violin." 

Isabel  turned  to  the  door  but  was  held  back 
by  a  peremptory  command.  "Wait !  " 

"  Here,"  he  cried  shrilly,  offering  Isabel  the 
violin.  "Take  this,  too  ! " 

"What  for?"  she  asked,  curiously.  "I 
can't  play." 

"Nevertheless,  it  belongs  to  you.  Keep  it, 
as  a  souvenir  ! " 

Holding  the  violin  awkwardly,  Isabel 
backed  out  of  the  room,  the  nurse  following 
her  and  closing  the  door.  The  nurse  was  a 


'38 


IRose  anfc  Silver 


B  flBan 
TOleeps 


young  woman  who  had  not  sacrificed  her 
normal  human  sympathy  to  her  chosen  work, 
but  had  managed,  happily,  to  combine  the 
two.  She  watched  Isabel  disdainfully  as  she 
went  down-stairs,  very  briskly  for  one  with  a 
sprained  ankle. 

"God  ! "  said  Allison,  aloud.  "Oh,  God  in 
Heaven  ! " 

Then  the  nurse  turned  away  in  pity,  for  be 
hind  the  closed  door  she  heard  a  grown  man 
sobbing  like  a  hurt  child. 


339 


XVII 

penance 

THE  Crosby  twins  had  gone  home  very  conscience 
quietly,  after  doing  all  they  could  to  help 
Colonel  Kent  and  Madame  Bernard.  "The 
Yellow  Peril"  chugged  along  at  the  lowest 
speed  with  all  its  gaudy  banners  torn  down. 
Neither  spoke  until  they  passed  the  spot  where 
the  red  touring  car  lay  on  its  side  in  the  ditch, 
and  four  or  five  dogs,  still  hungry  and  hopeful, 
wrangled  over  a  few  bare  bones. 

Juliet  was  sniffing  audibly,  and,  as  soon  as 
she  saw  the  wreck,  burst  into  tears.  "Oh, 
Romie,"  she  sobbed,  "if  he's  dead,  we've 
killed  him  ! " 

Romeo  swallowed  a  lump  in  his  throat, 
winked  hard,  and  roughly  advised  Juliet  to 
"shut  up." 

When  the  machine  was  safely  in  the  barn, 
and  all  the  scattered  dogs  collected  and  impris 
oned,  Romeo  came  in,  ready  to  talk  it  over. 
"We've  got  to  do  something/'  he  said,  "but 
I  don't  know  what  it  is." 


240 


IRose  an&  Stiver 


"TClbat 

Can  Tide 

Do?" 


"Oh,  Romie,"  cried  Juliet  with  a  fresh  burst 
of  tears,  "do  you  think  they'll  hang  us? 
We  're  murderers  ! " 

Romeo  considered  for  a  moment  before  he 
answered.  "We  aren't  murderers,  because 
we  did  n't  go  to  do  it.  They  won't  hang  us — 
but  they  ought  to,"  he  added,  remorsefully. 

"What  can  we  do?"  mourned  Juliet.  "Oh, 
what  can  we  do?" 

"Well,  we  can  pay  all  the  bills  for  one  thing 
— that 's  a  good  start.  To-morrow,  I  '11  see 
about  getting  that  car  out  of  the  ditch  and  tak 
ing  care  of  it." 

"Somebody  may  steal  it,"  she  suggested. 

"Not  if  we  guard  it.  One  or  both  of  us 
ought  to  sit  by  it  until  we  can  get  it  into  the 
barn." 

Juliet  wiped  her  eyes.  "That 's  right. 
We  '11  guard  it  all  night  to-night  and  while 
we  're  guarding  it,  we  '11  talk  it  all  over  and 
decide  what  to  do." 

The  dinner  of  unwholesome  delicacies  which 
they  had  planned  as  the  last  feature  of  the  day's 
celebration  was  hesitatingly  renounced.  "We 
don't  deserve  to  have  anything  at  all  to  eat," 
said  Juliet.  "What  is  it  that  they  feed 
prisoners  on  ?  " 

"Bread  and  water— black  bread?" 

"Where  could  we  get  black  bread?" 

"  I  don't  know.     I  never  saw  any." 

After  discussing  a  penitential  menu  for  some 


penance 


241 


time,  they  finally  decided  to  live  upon  mush 
and  milk  for  the  present,  and,  if  Allison  should 
die,  forever.  "We  can  warm  it  in  the  winter," 
said  Romeo,  "and  it  won't  be  so  bad." 

When  their  frugal  repast  was  finished,  they 
instinctively  changed  their  festal  garments 
for  the  sober  attire  of  every  day.  Romeo 
brought  in  two  lanterns  and  Juliet  pasted  red 
tissue  paper  around  them,  so  that  they  might 
serve  as  warning  signals  of  the  wreck.  At  sun 
set,  they  set  forth,  each  with  a  blanket  and 
a  lantern  to  do  sentry  duty  by  the  capsized 
car. 

"Oughtn't  we  to  have  a  dog  or  two?" 
queried  Romeo,  as  they  trudged  down  the  road. 
"Watchmen  always  have  dogs." 

"  We  ought  n't  to  have  anything  that  would 
make  it  any  easier  for  us  to  watch,  and  besides, 
the  dogs  weren't  to  blame.  They  don't 
need  to  sit  up  with  us — let  'em  have  their 
sleep."  t 

"All  right,"  Romeo  grunted.  "Shall  we 
divide  the  night  into  watches  and  one  of  us 
sit  on  the  car  while  the  other  walks  ?  " 

"  No,  we  '11  watch  together,  and  we  won't 
sit  on  the  car — we  '11  sit  on  the  cold,  damp 
ground.  If  we  take  cold  and  die  it  will  only 
serve  us  right." 

"We  can't  take  cold  in  June,"  objected 
Romeo,  "with  two  blankets." 

"Unless  it  rains." 


Sentry 


242 


©ib  IRose  anb  Silver 


"It  won't  rain  to-night,"  he  said,  gloomily; 
"  look  at  the  stars!" 

The  sky  was  clear,  and  pale  stars  shone 
faintly  in  the  afterglow.  There  was  not  even 
a  light  breeze — the  world  was  as  still  and  calm 
as  though  pain  and  death  were  unknown. 

When  they  reached  the  scene  of  the  accident, 
Romeo  set  the  two  red  lanterns  at  the  point 
where  the  back  of  the  car  touched  the  road. 
They  spread  one  blanket  on  the  grass  at  the 
other  side  of  the  road  and  sat  down  to  begin 
their  long  vigil.  Romeo  planned  to  go  home  to 
breakfast  at  sunrise  and  bring  Juliet  some  of  the 
mush  and  milk  left  from  supper.  Then,  while 
she  continued  to  watch  the  machine,  he  would 
go  into  town  and  make  arrangements  for  its 
removal. 

" Is  there  room  in  our  barn  for  both  cars?  " 
she  asked. 

"No.    Ours  will  have  to  come  out." 

Juliet  shuddered.  "  I  never  want  to  see  it 
again." 

"Neither  do  I." 

"Can  we  sell  it?" 

"We  ought  not  to  sell  it  unless  we  gave  him 
the  money.  We  should  n't  have  it  our 
selves." 

"Then,"  suggested  Juliet,  "why  don't  we 
give  it  away  and  give  him  just  as  much  as  it 
cost,  including  our  suits  and  the  dogs'  collars 
and  everything?  " 


penance 


243 


"We  have  no  right  to  give  away  a  man- 
killer.  'The  Yellow  Peril'  is  cursed." 

"Let's  sacrifice  it,"  she  cried.  "Let's 
make  a  funeral  pyre  in  the  yard  and  burn  it, 
and  our  suits  and  the  dogs'  collars  and  every 
thing.  Let 's  burn  everything  we  've  got  that 
we  care  for  !  " 

"All  right,"  agreed  Romeo,  uplifted  by  the 
zeal  of  the  true  martyr.  "And,"  he  added, 
regretfully,  "  I  '11  shoot  all  the  dogs  and  bury 
'em  in  one  long  trench.  I  don't  want  to  see 
anything  again  that  was  in  it." 

"  I  don't  either,"  returned  Juliet.  She  won 
dered  whether  she  should  permit  the  wholesale 
execution  of  the  herd,  since  it  was  a  thing 
she  had  secretly  desired  for  a  long  time. 
"You  mustn't  shoot  Minerva  and  the  pup 
pies,"  she  continued,  as  her  strict  sense  of  jus 
tice  asserted  itself,  "because  she  was  n't  in  it. 
She  was  at  home  taking  care  of  her  children  and 
they  'd  die  if  she  should  be  shot  now." 

So  it  was  settled  that  Minerva,  who  had 
taken  no  part  in  the  fatal  celebration,  should  be 
spared,  with  her  innocent  babes. 

"And  in  a  few  years  more,"  said  Romeo, 
hopefully,  "we  '11  have  lots  more  dogs,  though 
probably  not  as  many  as  we  've  got  now." 

Juliet  sighed  heavily  but  was  in  honour 
bound  to  make  no  objections,  for  long  ago, 
when  they  arbitrated  the  dog  question,  it  was 
written  in  the  covenant  that  no  dogs  should  be 


Ube  S>oa 
Question 


244 


IRose  anfc  Silver 


SaefecTotb 

ant>  Bsbee 


imported  or  none  killed,  except  by  mutual  con 
sent.  And  Minerva  had  five  puppies,  and  if 
each  of  the  five  should  follow  the  maternal 
example,  and  if  each  of  those  should  do  like 
wise — Juliet  fairly  lost  her  head  in  a  maze  of 
mental  arithmetic. 

"We  ought  to  go  into  deep  mourning," 
Romeo  was  saying. 

"  I  've  been  thinking  of  that.  We  should 
repent  in  sackcloth  and  ashes,  only  I  don't 
know  what  sackcloth  is." 

"  I  guess  it 's  that  rough  brown  stuff  they 
make  potato  bags  of." 

"Burlap?" 

"  Yes.  But  we  have  n't  many  ashes  at  this 
time  of  year  and  we  '11  have  still  less  if  we  live 
on  mush  and  milk." 

"Maybe  we  could  get  ashes  somewhere," 
she  said,  thoughtfully. 

"We'd  have  to,  because  it  would  take  us 
over  a  year  to  get  enough  to  repent  in." 

"There  '11  be  ashes  left  from  the  automobile 
and  the  suits,  and  if  you  can  get  enough  potato 
bags,  I  '11  fix  'em  so  we  can  wear  'em  at  the 
sacrifice  and  afterwards  we  can  buy  deep 
mourning." 

"All  right,  but  you  must  n't  make  pretty 
suits." 

"  I  could  n't,  out  of  potato  bags.  They  '11 
have  to  be  plain — very  plain." 

"The  first  thing  is  to  get  this  car  into  our 


penance 


245 


barn,  and  write  and  tell  Colonel  Kent  where  it 
is.  Then  we  '11  get  our  black  clothes,  and  then 
we  '11  shoot  the  dogs  and  bury  'em,  and  then 
we  '11  have  the  sacrifice,  and  then " 

"And  then/'  repeated  Juliet. 

"Then  we  '11  have  to  go  and  tell  'em  all  what 
we  've  done,  and  offer  to  pay  all  the  bills,  and 
give  'em  the  price  of  the  car  besides  for  dam- 
ages." 

"Oh,  Romie,"  cried  Juliet,  with  a  shudder, 
"we  don't  have  to  go  and  tell  'em,  do  we? 
We  don't  have  to  take  strangers  into  our 
consciences,  do  we?  " 

"Certainly,"  replied  Romeo,  sternly.  "Just 
because  we  don't  want  to  do  it  is  why  we  've 
got  to.  We  've  got  to  do  hard  things  when  we 
make  a  sacrifice.  Lots  of  people  think  they  're 
charitable  if  they  give  away  their  old  clothes 
and  things  they  don't  want.  It  is  n't  charity 
to  give  away  things  you  want  to  get  rid  of  and 
it  is  n't  a  sacrifice  to  do  things  you  don't  mind 
doing.  The  harder  it  is  and  the  more  we  don't 
want  to  do  it,  the  better  sacrifice." 

His  logic  was  convincing,  but  Juliet  drooped 
visibly.  The  bent  little  figure  on  the  blanket 
was  pathetic,  but  the  twins  were  not  given  to 
self-pity.  As  time  went  on,  the  conversation 
lagged.  They  had  both  had  a  hard  day,  from 
more  than  one  standpoint,  and  it  was  not  sur 
prising  that  by  midnight,  the  self-appointed 
sentries  were  sound  asleep  upon  one  blanket, 


246 


®l&  IRose  an&  Silver 


Ube 

Sentries 
Bwahe 


with  Romeo's  coat  for  a  pillow  and   the  other 
blanket  tucked  around  them. 

The  red  lanterns  burned  faithfully  until 
almost  dawn,  then  smoked  and  went  out, 
leaving  an  unpleasant  odour  that  lasted  until 
sunrise.  The  rumble  of  a  distant  cart  woke 
them,  and  they  sat  up,  shamefacedly  rubbing 
their  eyes. 

"Oh,"  cried  Juliet,  conscience-stricken,  "we 
went  to  sleep  !  We  went  to  sleep  on  duty  ! 
How  could  we  ?  " 

"Dunno,"  returned  Romeo,  with  a  frank 
yawn.  "Guess  we  were  tired.  Anyhow,  the 
machine  is  all  right." 

When  the  milkman  came  in  sight,  they 
hailed  him  and  purchased  a  quart  of  milk. 
He  was  scarcely  surprised  to  see  them,  for  the 
Crosbys  were  widely  known  to  be  eccentric, 
and  presently  he  drove  on.  His  query  about 
the  wrecked  car  had  passed  unnoticed. 

"  If  you  '11  stay  here,  Jule,"  said  Romeo, 
wiping  his  mouth,  "  I  '11  go  and  get  a  team  and 
some  rope  and  we  '11  get  the  car  in." 

"Can't  I  go  too?" 

"No,  you  stay  here.  It's  bad  enough  to 
sleep  at  your  post  without  deserting  it." 

"  You  slept,  too,"  retorted  Juliet,  quickly  on 
the  defensive,  "and  I  'm  a  girl." 

"  Huh  ! "  he  sneered.  The  claim  of  femi 
nine  privilege  invariably  disgusted  him  beyond 
words. 


penance 


247 


"Suppose  people  come  by — "  Juliet  faltered; 
"  and — ask — questions." 

"Answer  'em/'  advised  Romeo,  briefly. 
"Tell  'em  we  've  killed  a  man  and  are  going  to 
suffer  for  it.  '  We  deserve  to  have  everybody 
know  it." 

But,  fortunately  for  Juliet's  quicker  sensibil 
ities,  no  one  passed  by  in  the  hour  Romeo  was 
gone.  He  came  from  the  nearest  farm  with 
an  adequate  number  of  assistants  and  such 
primitive  machinery  as  was  at  hand.  The  car 
was  not  badly  damaged  and  was  finally  towed 
into  the  Crosbys'  barn.  Then  they  went  into 
the  house  and  composed  a  letter  to  Colonel 
Kent,  but  put  off  copying  and  sending  it  until 
they  should  be  able  to  get  black  bordered 
stationery. 

Two  weeks  later,  clad  in  deepest  mourning, 
the  twins  trudged  into  town.  At  Colonel 
Kent's  there  was  no  one  in  authority  to  receive 
them  and  their  errand  was  of  too  much  impor 
tance  to  be  communicated  to  either  physician 
or  nurse.  Their  own  unopened  letter  lay  on  the 
library  table,  with  many  others. 

Subdued  and  chastened  in  demeanour,  they 
went  to  Madame  Bernard's  and  waited  in 
funereal  silence  until  Madame  came  down. 

"How  do  you — "  she  began,  then  stopped. 
"Why,  what  is  the  matter?  " 

"We  ran  over  him,"  explained  Romeo,  sug 
gestively  inclining  his  head  in  the  general 


On  Steepest 

flDournfng 


248 


IRose  anfc  Stiver 


direction  of  Kent's.  "Don't  you  remem- 
ft"  ber?" 

"And  if  he  dies,  we  've  killed  him,"  put  in 
Juliet,  sadly. 

"We'll  be  murderers  if  he  dies,"  Romeo 
continued,  "  and  we  ought  to  be  hung." 

In  spite  of  her  own  depression  and  deep 
anxiety,  Madame  saw  how  keenly  the  tragedy 
had  affected  the  twins.  "Why,  my  dears  ! " 
she  cried.  "Do  you  think  for  a  minute  that 
anybody  in  the  world  blames  you  ?  " 

"We  ought  to  be  blamed,"  Romeo  returned, 
"  because  we  did  it." 

"  But  not  on  purpose — you  could  n't  help 
it." 

"We  could  have  helped  it/'  said  Juliet,  "by 
not  celebrating.  We  had  no  business  to  buy 
an  automobile,  or,  even  if  we  had,  we  should  n't 
have  gone  out  in  it  until  we  learned  to  run  it." 

"That 's  like  staying  away  from  the  water 
until  you  have  learned  to  swim,"  answered 
Madame,  comfortingly,  "and  Allison  isn't 
going  to  die." 

"  Really  ?  Do  you  mean  it  ?  Are  you  sure  ? 
How  do  you  know  ?  "  The  words  came  all  at 
once,  in  a  jumble  of  eager  questions. 

"Because  he  isn't.  The  worst  that  could 
possibly  happen  to  him  would  be  the  loss  of 
his  left  hand,  and  his  father  is  looking  all  over 
the  country  for  some  surgeon  who  can  save 
it." 


penance 


249 


"  I  'd  rather  die  than  to  have  my  hand  cut 
off,"  said  Juliet,  in  a  small,  thin  voice. 

"So  would  I,"  added  Romeo. 

"We're  all  hoping  for  the  best,"  Madame 
went  on,  "and  you  must  hope,  too.  Nobody 
has  thought  of  blaming  you,  so  you  must  n't 
feel  so  badly  about  it.  Even  Allison  himself 
would  n't  want  you  to  feel  badly." 

"But  we  do,"  Romeo  answered,  "in  spite 
of  all  the  sacrifices  and  everything." 

"Sacrifices,"  repeated  Madame,  wonderingly, 
"why,  what  do  you  mean?  " 

"We  did  sentry  duty  all  night  by  his  car," 
Romeo  explained,  "  and  we  're  taking  care  of 
it  in  our  barn." 

"And  we  've  lived  on  mush  and  milk  ever 
since,"  Juliet  added. 

"I  shot  all  the  dogs  but  the  one  with  the 
puppies,"  said  Romeo. 

"She  was  n't  in  it,  you  know,"  Juliet  con 
tinued.  "I  helped  dig  the  trench  and  we 
buried  the  whole  nineteen  end  to  end  by  the 
fence,  with  their  new  collars  on." 

"Then  we  burned  the  automobile,"  resumed 
Romeo.  "We  soaked  it  in  kerosene,  and  put 
our  suits  into  the  back  seat — our  caps  and 
goggles  and  everything.  We  took  out  all 
the  pieces  of  iron  and  steel  and  gave  'em  to  the 
junk  man,  and  then  we  repented  in  sackcloth 
and  ashes." 

"How    so?"    queried     Madame,    with    a 


Sacrifices 


250 


1Rose  anfc  Stiver 


•Repent, 
ance 


faint    glimmer    of    amusement    in  her  sad 
eyes. 

"Juliet  made  suits  out  of  potato  sacks-— 
very  plain  suits — and  we  put  'em  on  to  repent 
in." 

"We  went  and  stood  in  the  ashes,"  put  in 
Juliet,  "while  they  were  so  hot  that  they  hurt 
our  feet,  and  Romie  raised  his  right  hand  and 
said  '  I  repent*  and  then  I  did  the  same." 

"And  after  the  ashes  got  cold,  we  sat  down 
in  'em  and  rubbed  'em  into  the  sackcloth  and 
our  hair  and  all  over  our  faces  and  hands." 

"All  the  time  saying  '  I  repent !  I  repent !' ' 
continued  Juliet,  soberly. 

"And  then  we  went  into  mourning,"  con 
cluded  Romeo. 

Madame's  heart  throbbed  with  tender  pity 
for  the  stricken  twins,  but  she  wisely  said 
nothing. 

"Can  you  think  of  anything  more  we  could 
do,  or  any  more  sacrifices  we  could  make  ?  " 
inquired  Juliet,  ready  to  atone  in  full  measure. 

"Indeed  I  can't,"  Madame  replied,  truth 
fully.  "  I  think  you  've  done  everything  that 
could  be  expected  of  you." 

"We  wrote  to  the  Colonel,"  said  Romeo, 
"  but  he  has  n't  got  it  yet.  We  saw  it  on  the 
library  table.  We  want  to  pay  all  the 
bills." 

"And  give  Allison  as  much  money  as  we 
spent  on  the  automobile  and  for  the  suits  and 


penance 


251 


everything,  and  pay  for  fixing  up  his  car," 
interrupted  Juliet. 

"We  want  to  do  everything,"  Romeo  said, 
with  marked  emphasis. 

"  Everything,"  echoed  Juliet. 

"That  's  very  nice  of  you,"  answered  Ma 
dame,  kindly,  "and  we  all  appreciate 
it." 

The  stern  young  faces  of  the  twins  relaxed 
ever  so  little.  It  was  a  great  relief  to  discover 
that  they  were  not  objects  of  scorn  and  loath 
ing,  for  they  had  brooded  over  the  accident 
until  they  had  become  morbid. 

"Did  you  say  that  you  had  been  living  upon 
mush  and  milk  ever  since  ?  "  asked  Madame. 

"Ever  since,"  they  answered,  together. 

"  I  'm  sure  that  's  long  enough,"  she  said. 
"  I  would  n't  do  it  any  longer.  Won't  you 
stay  to  dinner  with  us  ?  " 

With  one  accord  the  twins  rose,  impelled 
by  a  single  impulse  toward  departure. 

"We  could  n't,"  said  Romeo. 

"We  mustn't,"  explained  Juliet.  Then, 
with  belated  courtesy,  she  added:  "Thank 
you,  just  the  same." 

They  made  their  adieux  awkwardly  and 
went  home,  greatly  eased  in  mind.  As  they 
trudged  along  the  dusty  road,  they  occasion 
ally  sighed  in  relief,  but  said  little  until  they 
reached  their  ancestral  abode,  dogless  now 
save  for  the  pups  gambolling  about  the  door- 


2S2  TRose  ant>  Silver 


penance 


step  and  Minerva  watching  them  with  maternal 
pride. 

"She  said  we'd  lived  on  mush  and  milk 
long  enough,"  said  Romeo,  pensively. 

"We  might  fry  the  mush,"  Juliet  suggested. 

"And  have  butter  and  maple  syrup  on  it?  " 

"Maybe." 

"And  drink  the  milk,  and  have  bread,  too?  " 

"I  guess  so." 

"And  jam?" 

"  Not  while  we  're  in  mourning,"  said  Juliet, 
firmly.  "We  can  have  syrup  on  our  bread." 

"That 's  just  as  good." 

"  If  you  think  so,  you  ought  not  to  have  it." 

"We  've  got  to  feed  ourselves,  or  we  '11  die," 
he  objected  vigorously,  "and  if  we're  dead, 
we  won't  be  any  good  to  him  or  to  anybody 
else,  and  we  can't  ever  repent  any  more." 

"  I  'm  not  so  sure  about  that/'  said  Juliet, 
with  sinister  emphasis. 

"Nothing  will  happen  to  us  that  we  don't 
deserve,"  Romeo  assured  her,  "so  come  on  and 
let 's  have  jam.  If  it  makes  us  sick,  it 's 
wrong,  and  if  it  does  n't,  it 's  all  right." 

The  following  day,  they  voluntarily  re 
turned  to  their  mush  and  milk,  for  they  had 
eaten  too  much  jam,  and,  having  been  very 
ill  in  the  night,  considered  it  sufficient  evidence 
that  their  penance  was  not  yet  over. 


253 


XVIII 

tban  tbe  2>u0t" 

THE  heat  of  August  shimmered  over  the 
land,  and  still,  to  every  inquiry  at  the 
door  or  telephone,  the  quiet  young  woman  in 
blue  and  white  said:  "No  change."  Allison 
was  listless  and  apathetic,  yet  comparatively 
free  from  pain. 

Life,  for  him,  had  ebbed  back  to  the  point 
where  the  tide  must  either  cease  or  turn.  He 
knew  neither  hunger  nor  thirst  nor  weariness; 
only  the  great  pause  of  soul  and  body,  the 
sense  of  the  ultimate  goal. 

One  by  one,  he  meditated  upon  the  things 
he  used  to  care  for.  Isabel  came  first,  but  her 
youth  and  beauty  had  ceased  to  trouble  or  to 
beckon.  His  father  had  gone  on  ahead. 
The  delusion  still  persisted,  but  he  spoke  of  it 
no  more.  Even  the  violin  did  not  matter  now. 
He  remembered  the  endless  hours  he  had  spent 
at  work,  almost  every  day  of  his  life  for  years, 
and  to  what  end?  In  an  instant,  it  had  been 
rendered  empty,  purposeless,  and  vain — like 
life  itself. 


•Ho  Cbange 


254 


1Ro0e  anfc  Silver 


H  Cunning 
Scheme 


Occasionally  a  new  man  came  to  look  at  his 
hand;  not  from  the  city  now,  but  from  towns 
farther  inland.  The  examinations  were  pain 
ful,  of  course,  but  he  made  no  objections. 
After  the  man  had  gone,  he  could  count  the 
slow,  distinct  pulsations  that  marked  the 
ebbing  of  the  pain,  but  never  troubled  himself 
to  ask  either  the  doctor  or  the  nurse  what  the 
new  man  had  said  about  it.  He  no  longer  cared. 

Aunt  Francesca  had  not  come — nor  Rose. 
Perhaps  they  were  dead,  also.  He  asked  the 
nurse  one  sultry  afternoon  if  they  were  dead. 

"No/'  she  assured  him;  "nobody  is  dead." 

He  wondered,  fretfully,  why  she  should  take 
the  trouble  to  lie  to  him  so  persistently  upon 
this  one  point.  Then  a  cunning  scheme  came 
into  his  mind.  It  presented  itself  mechanic 
ally  to  him  as  a  trap  for  the  nurse.  If  they 
were  dead,  she  could  not  produce  them  in 
stantly  alive,  as  a  conjurer  takes  animals  from 
an  apparently  empty  box.  If  he  demanded 
that  she  should  bring  them  to  him,  or  even  one, 
it  would  prove  his  point  and  let  her  see  that  he 
knew  how  she  was  trying  to  deceive  him. 

"Have  they  gone  away?  "  he  inquired. 

"No,  they 're  still  there." 

"Then,"  said  Allison,  with  the  air  of  one 
scoring  a  fine  point,  "will  you  ask — well — ask 
Miss  Bernard  to  come  over  and  see  me  ?  " 

Remembering  the  other  woman  who  had 
come  in  response  to  his  request,  and  the  disas- 


tban  tbe  Dust" 


255 


trous  effect  the  visit  had  had  upon  her  patient 
she  hesitated.  "  I  'm  afraid  you  're  not  strong 
enough/'  she  said  kindly.  "Can't  you  wait  a 
little  longer?" 

"There,"  he  cried.  "I  knew  they  were 
dead  ! " 

As  she  happened  to  be  both  wise  and  kind, 
the  young  woman  hesitated  no  longer.  "  If  I 
brought  you  a  note  from  her  you  would  be 
lieve  me,  would  n't  you  ?  " 

"No,"  he  replied,  stubbornly. 

"  Is  n't  there  any  way  you  would  know, 
without  seeing  her?  " 

He  considered  for  a  few  moments.  "  I  'd 
know  if  I  heard  her  play,"  he  said  at  length. 
"There  's  no  one  who  could  play  just  the  way 
she  does." 

"  Suppose  I  ask  her  to  come  over  sometimes 
and  play  the  piano  downstairs  for  a  few  min 
utes  at  a  time,  very  softly.  Would  you  like 
that?" 

"  Yes — that  is,  I  don't  mind."  He  was  sure, 
now,  that  his  trap  was  in  working  order,  for 
no  one  could  deceive  him  at  the  piano — he 
would  recognise  Rose  at  the  first  chord. 

"Excuse  me  just  a  minute,  please."  She 
returned  presently  with  the  news  that  Rose 
would  come  as  soon  as  she  could.  "Can't  you 
go  to  sleep  now?  "  she  suggested. 

Allison  smiled  ironically.  How  transparent 
she  was ! 


TEbe  Urap 
Set 


256 


TRose  anb  Silver 


Soft 

flDugtC 


She  wanted  him  to  go  to  sleep  and  when  he 
awoke,  she  would  tell  him  that  Rose  had  been 
there,  and  had  played,  and  had  just  gone. 

"No,"  he  answered,  "I  don't  want  to  go  to 
sleep.  I  want  to  hear  Rose  play."  - 

So  he  waited,  persistently  wide  awake. 
Sharpened  by  illness  and  pain,  his  hearing  was 
phenomenally  acute;  so  much  so  that  even  a 
whisper  in  the  next  room  was  distinctly  audible. 
He  heard  the  distant  rumble  of  wheels,  ap 
proaching  steadily,  and  wondered  why  the 
house  did  not  tremble  when  the  carriage 
stopped.  He  heard  the  lower  door  open  softly, 
then  close,  a  quick,  light  step  in  the  living  room, 
the  old-fashioned  piano  stool  whirling  on  its 
rusty  axis,  then  a  few  slow,  deep  chords 
prefacing  a  familiar  bit  of  Chopin. 

He  turned  to  the  nurse,  who  sat  in  her  low 
rocking-chair  at  the  window.  "I  beg  your 
pardon.  I  thought  you  were  not  telling  me 
the  truth." 

The  young  woman  only  smiled  in  answer. 
"Listen!" 

From  downstairs  the  music  came  softly. 
Rose  was  playing  with  the  exquisite  taste  and 
feeling  that  characterised  everything  she 
did.  She  purposely  avoided  the  extremes  of 
despair  and  joy,  keeping  to  the  safe  middle- 
ground.  Living  waters  murmured  through 
the  melody,  the  sea  surged  and  crooned, 
flying  clouds  went  through  blue,  sunny  spaces, 


"  !&ess  tban  tbe  Dust  " 

257 

a 

a 

i 
b 
t 
a 
t 

F 
b 

s 
f 
t 

nd  birds  sang,  ever  with  an  unfailing  uplift, 
s  of  many  wings. 
Allison's  calmness  insensibly  changed,  not 
n  degree,  but  in  quality,  as  the  piano  magically 
>rought  before  him  green  distances  lying  fair 
>eneath  the  warm  sun,  clover-scented  meadows 
nd  blossoming  boughs.    "Life,"  he  said  to 
limself  ;  "life  more  abundant." 
She   drifted   from   one    thing    to   another, 
(laying  snatches  of  old  songs,  woven  together 
>y  modulations  of  her  own  making.     At  last 
he  paused  to  think  of  something  else,  but  her 
ingers   remembered,   and   began,   almost   of 
heir  own  accord: 

Xife  more 
Bbunoant 

ntt   r^-'  -HH*-  {riflr*  £ 

1  V  ft  *?  7J    3  I         <  :?L—    .     -<l      JL          i\     \ 

/r-nf>   ^    -U-:  J'»<VU    4^4*41^  ^V-J 

icp  4  <d  r  r  r  —  F  IT—  | 

g|       ^             e&r     LJ            v 

f)    e  legato. 

SZEffljJ      H                m    \      m    \      m                *           * 

^M                                                                                                                                         ^2 

. 

ntt  ^-?       IT     th  ,lr 

y  *r      j(                   t      <«   cb     1  ir^                                    H 

/L     «L         f   j.       i                i     n 

m          r   •           r  •  \\                                                 -  ' 

32                               ?'                                               " 

d       1          b  S^J 
u            f-      *•                  r      ^ 

ZiV  4f                               U                  •                                                                                   If 

EZEJB            *    r    «          •              «          «              t-1 

Nil            !                ir:        1] 

Allison  stirred  restlessly,  as  he  recalled  how 

IRose  ant>  Silver 


Ube  pale 
Star 


he  had  heard  it  before.  He  saw  the  drifted 
petals  of  fallen  roses,  the  moon-shadow  on  the 
dial,  hours  wrong,  the  spangled  cobwebs  in  the 
grass  and  the  other  spangles,  changed  to  faint 
iridescence  in  the  enchanted  light  as  Isabel 
came  toward  him  and  into  his  open  arms. 
Could  marble  respond  to  a  lover's  passion,  could 
dead  lips  answer  with  love  for  love,  then 
Isabel  might  have  yielded  to  him  at  least  a  tol 
erant  tenderness.  He  saw  her  now,  alien  and 
apart,  like  some  pale  star  that  shone  upon  a 
barren  waste,  but  never  for  him. 

Another  phrase,  full  of  love  and  longing, 
floated  up  the  stairway  and  entered  his  room, 
a  guest  unbidden. 


tban  tbe  Bust" 


259 


He  turned  to  the  nurse.  "Ask  Miss  Ber- 
nard  to  come  up  for  a  few  minutes,  will  you  ?  " 

"Do  you  think  it  's  wise?  "  she  temporised. 

"Please  ask  her  to  come  up,"  he  said, 
imperatively.  "Must  I  call  her  myself?  " 

So  Rose  came  up,  after  receiving  the  custom 
ary  caution  not  to  stay  too  long  and  avoid 
everything  that  might  be  unpleasant  or  excit 
ing. 

She  stood  for  a  moment  in  the  doorway, 
hesitating.  Her  face  was  almost  as  white  as 
her  linen  gown,  but  her  eyes  were  shining 
with  strange  fires. 

"White  Rose,"  he  said,  wearily,  "  I  have  been 
through  hell." 

"  I  know,"  she  answered,  softly,  drawing  up 
a  chair  beside  him.  "Aunt  Francesca  and  I 
have  wished  that  we  might  divide  it  with  you 
and  help  you  bear  it." 

He  stretched  a  trembling  hand  toward  her 
and  she  took  it  in  both  her  own.  They  were 
soft  and  cool,  and  soothing. 

"Thank  you  for  wanting  to  share  it,"  he 
said.  "Thank  you  for  coming,  for  playing  — 
for  everything." 

"Either  of  us  would  have  come  whenever 
you  wanted  us,  night  or  day." 

"Suppose  it  was  night,  and  I  'd  wanted  you 
to  come  and  play  to  me.  Would  you  have 
come?" 

"Why,  yes.    Of  course  I  would  !  " 


26o  ©K>  IRose  anb  Silver 

"I  didn't  know/'  he  stammered,  "that 
there  was  so  much  kindness  in  the  world. 
I  have  been  very  lonely  since " 

Her  eyes  filled  and  she  held  his  hand  more 
closely.  "You  won't  be  lonely  any  more. 
I  '11  come  whenever  you  want  me,  night  or  day, 
to  play,  to  read — or  anything.  Only  speak, 
and  I  '11  come." 

"How  good  you  are  ! "  he  murmured,  grate 
fully.  "No,  please  don't  let  go  of  my  hand." 
In  some  inexplicable  fashion  strength  seemed 
to  flow  to  him  from  her. 

"  I  think  you  '11  be  glad  to  know,"  she 
said,  "how  sympathetic  everybody  has  been. 
Strangers  stop  us  on  the  street  to  ask  for  you, 
and  people  telephone  every  day.  Down  in  the 
library,  there  's  a  pile  of  letters  that  would 
take  days  to  read,  and  many  of  them  have  for 
eign  stamps.  It  makes  one  feel  warm  around 
the  heart,  for  it  brings  the  ideal  of  human 
brotherhood  so  near." 

He  sighed  and  his  face  looked  haggard. 
The  brotherhood  of  man  was  among  the  things 
that  did  not  concern  him  now.  The  weari 
ness  of  the  ages  was  in  every  line  of  his  body. 

"  I  have  been  thinking,"  he  went  on,  after  a 
little,  "what  a  difference  one  little  hour  can 
make,  a  minute,  even.  Once  I  had  everything 
— youth,  health,  strength,  a  happy  home,  love, 
a  dear  father,  and  every  promise  of  success 
in  my  chosen  career.  Now  I  'm  old  and 


Xess  tban  tbe  Bust" 


261 


broken;  health,  strength,  and  love  have  been 
taken  away  in  an  instant,  my  father  is  gone, 
and  my  career  is  only  an  empty  memory.  I 
have  no  violin,  and,  if  I  had,  what  use  would  it 
be  to  me  without  —  why  Rose,  I  have  n't  even 
fingers  to  make  the  notes  nor  hands  to  hold  it." 

Rose  could  bear  no  more.  She  sprang  to  her 
feet  with  arms  outstretched,  all  her  love  and 
longing  swelling  into  infinite  appeal.  "Oh 
Boy!"  she  cried,  "take  mine!  Take  my 
hands,  for  always  !  " 

For  a  tense  instant  they  faced  each  other. 
Her  breast  rose  and  fell  with  every  quick 
breath;  her  eyes  met  his.  then  faltered,  and  the 
crimson  of  shame  mantled  her  white  face. 

"Oh,"  she  breathed,  painfully,  and  turned 
away  from  him.  When  she  was  half  way  to 
the  door,  he  called  to  her.  "Rose!  Dear 
Rose  !" 

She  hesitated,  her  hand  upon  the  knob. 
"Close  the  door  and  come  back,"  he  pleaded. 
"Please—  oh,  please!" 

Trembling  from  head  to  foot,  she  obeyed 
him,  but  her  face  was  pitiful.  She  could  not 
force  herself  to  look  at  him.  "Forgive," 
she  murmured,  "and  forget." 

The  hand  he  took  in  his  was  cold,  but  her 
nearness  gave  him  comfort,  as  never  before. 
His  heart  was  unspeakably  tender  toward  her. 

"Rose,"  he  went  on,  softly,  "I  've  been  too 
near  the  other  world  not  to  have  the  truth 


Uafte 


262 


IRose  anb  Stiver 


Confess* 
tons 


now.  Tell  me  what  you  mean  !  Make  me 
understand  ! " 

She  did  not  answer,  nor  even  lift  her  eyes. 
She  breathed  hard,  as  though  she  were  in  pain. 

"Rose,"  he  said  again,  tightening  his  clasp 
upon  the  hand  she  tried  to  draw  away,  "did  you 
mean  that  you  would  be  my " 

"  In  name,"  she  interrupted,  throwing  up  her 
head  proudly.  "Just  to  help  you — that  was 
all." 

He  drew  her  hand  to  his  hot  lips  and  kissed 
it  twice.  "Oh,  how  divinely  kind  you  are,"  he 
whispered,  "even  to  think  of  stooping  to  such 
as  I  ! " 

"Have  pity,"  she  said  brokenly,  "and  let  me 

go/' 

"Pity?"  he  repeated.  "In  all  the  world 
there  is  none  like  yours.  To  think  of  your 
being  willing  to  sacrifice  yourself,  through  pity 
of  me  ! " 

The  blood  came  back  into  her  heart  by  leaps 
and  bounds.  She  had  not  utterly  betrayed 
herself,  then,  since  he  translated  it  thus. 

"Listen,"  he  was  saying.  "I  cared — terri 
bly,  but  it's  gone,  and  my  heart  is  empty. 
It 's  like  an  open  grave,  waiting  for  something 
that  does  not  come.  Did  you  ever  care  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  with  eyes  downcast. 

"Did  you  care  for  someone  who  did  not  care 
for  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  replied,  again. 


tban  tbe  Bust"  263 


"And  he  never  knew?  "  -new 

"  No."    The  word  was  almost  a  whisper. 

"He  must  have  been  a  brute,  not  to  have 
cared.  Was  it  long  ago  ?  " 

"Not  very." 

"  Have  I  ever  met  him  ?  " 

The  suggestion  of  an  ironical  smile  hovered 
for  a  moment  around  her  pale  lips,  then  van 
ished.  "No." 

"  I  have  no  right  to  —  to  ask  his  name." 

"  No.    What  difference  does  a  name  make  ?  " 

"None.  Could  you  never  bring  yourself  to 
care  for  anyone  else  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  breathed.    "  Oh,  no  !  " 

"And  yet,  with  your  heart  as  empty  as 
mine  you  still  have  pity  enough  to  - 

"To  serve  you,"  she  answered.  Her  eyes 
met  his  clearly  now.  "To  help  you  —  as  your 
best  friend  might." 

"  Rose,  dear  Rose  !  You  give  me  new  cour 
age,  but  how  can  I  let  you  sacrifice  yourself 
forme?" 

"  Believe  me,"  she  said  diffidently,  "  there  is 
no  question  of  sacrifice.  Have  you  never 
thought  of  what  you  might  do,  that  would  be 
even  better  than  the  career  you  had  planned  ?" 

"Why,  no.  What  could  I  do,  without  -  " 

"Write,"  she  said,  with  her  eyes  shining. 
"Let  others  play  what  you  write.  Immortal 
ity  comes  by  way  of  the  printed  page." 

I    could  n't,"    he    returned,    doubtfully. 


" 


264 


©R>  IRose  ant>  Silver 


Ube  ©16 

Comrabes 
ship 


"I  never  composed  anything  except  two  or 
three  little  things  that  I  never  dared  to  play, 
even  for  encores." 

"Never  say  you  can't.  Say  '  I  must/  and  '  I 
will/  " 

"You  're  saying  them  for  me.  You  almost 
make  me  believe  in  myself." 

"That 's  the  very  best  of  beginnings,  is  n't 
it?" 

She  was  quite  calm  now,  outwardly,  and  she 
drew  her  hand  away.  Allison  remembered 
the  long,  happy  hours  they  had  spent  together 
before  Isabel  came  into  his  life.  Now  that 
she  was  gone,  the  old  comradeship  had  re 
turned,  the  sweeter  because  of  long  absence. 
Rose  had  never  fretted  nor  annoyed  him;  she 
seemed  always  to  understand. 

"You  don't  know  how  glad  I  'd  be,"  he 
sighed,  "to  feel  that  I  was  n't  quite  out  of  it — 
that  there  was  something  in  life  for  me  still. 
I  did  n't  want  to  be  a  bit  of  driftwood  on  the 
current  of  things." 

"  You  're  not  going  to  be — I  won't  let  you. 
Have  n't  you  learned  that  sometimes  we  have 
to  wait;  that  we  can't  always  be  going  on? 
Just  moor  your  soul  at  the  landing  place,  and 
when  the  hour  comes,  you  '11  swing  out  into 
the  current  again.  Much  of  the  driftwood  is 
only  craft  that  broke  away  from  the  landing." 

He  smiled,  for  her  fancy  pleased  him.  An 
abiding  sense  of  companionship  crept  into  his 


ss  tban  tbe  2>u0t " 


265 


loneliness;  his  isolation  seemed  to  be  shared. 
"And  you  '11  stay  at  the  landing  with  me,"  he 
whispered,  "until  the  time  comes  to  set  sail 
again  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"And — after  the  worst  that  can  come — is 
over,  we  '11  make  it  right  with  the  world  and  go 
abroad  together?" 

"  Yes."    Her  voice  was  very  low  now. 

"And  we'll  be  the  best  of  friends,  for 
always  ?  " 

"  Yes— the  best  of  friends  in  all  the  world." 

"And  you  '11  promise  me  that,  if  you  're 
ever  sorry,  you  '11  come  straight  and  tell  me — 
that  you  '11  ask  me  to  set  you  free?  " 

"  I  promise." 

"Then  everything  is  all  right  between  you 
and  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  I  'm  ashamed — bitterly  ashamed." 

"You  mustn't  be,  for  I'm  very  glad. 
We  '11  try  to  forget  the  wreckage  together.  I 
could  n't  have  asked,  unless  I  had  known  about 
— the  other  man,  and  you  would  n't  have  told 
me,  I  know.  It  would  n't  have  been  like  you  to 
tell  me." 

There  was  a  knock,  the  door  opened,  and  the 
nurse  came  in,  watch  in  hand.  "  I  'm  sorry, 
Miss  Bernard,  but  you  can  come  to-morrow  if 
he  's  well  enough." 

"  I  '11  be  well  enough,"  said  Allison,  smiling. 

"Of   course,"   Rose   assured    him,   shaking 


Ube  JBest 
of  ff rten&s 


266  ©i&  iRose  ant)  Stiver 

•natural  hands  in  friendly  fashion.  "Don't  forget  that 
SIeep  it's  a  secret." 

"  I  won't.    Good-bye,  Rose." 

When  she  had  gone,  the  nurse  studied  him 
furtively,  from  across  the  room.  He  had 
changed  in  some  subtle  way — he  seemed 
stronger  than  before.  Unless  it  was  excite 
ment,  to  be  followed  by  a  reaction,  Miss 
Bernard  had  done  him  good.  The  night 
would  prove  it  definitely,  one  way  or  the  other. 

Allison  slept  soundly  until  daybreak,  for  the 
first  time — not  stupor,  but  natural  sleep. 
The  nurse  began  to  wonder  if  it  was  possible 
that  a  hand  so  badly  crushed  and  broken  could 
be  healed.  Hitherto  her  service  had  been 
mechanically  kind;  she  had  taken  no  interest 
because  she  saw  no  hope.  How  wonderful  it 
would  be  if  that  long  procession  of  learned 
counsellors  should  be  mistaken,  after  all ! 

Rose  walked  home,  disdaining  the  waiting 
carriage.  She  had  forgotten  her  hat  and  the 
sunset  lent  radiance  to  a  face  that  needed  no 
more.  By  rare  tact  and  kindness,  Allison  had 
removed  the  sting  from  her  shame  and  the 
burden  she  had  borne  so  long  was  lifted  from 
her  heavy  heart. 

She  was  happier  now  than  she  had  ever  been 
before  in  her  life,  but  she  must  hide  her  joy 
from  the  others  as  she  had  previously  hidden 
her  pain — or  tried  to.  She  knew  that  Isabel 


Xess  tban  tbe  Bust " 


267 


would  not  see,  but  Aunt  Francesca's  eyes  were 
keen  and  she  could  not  tell  even  her  just  now. 

How  strange  it  would  be  to  wake  in  the  night, 
without  that  dull,  dead  pain  !  How  strange  it 
was  to  feel  herself  needed,  and  oh,  the  joy  of 
serving  him  ! 

She  thrilled  with  the  ecstasy  of  sacrifice; 
with  that  maternal  compassion  which  is  a  vital 
element  in  woman's  love  for  man.  Subli 
mated  beyond  passion  and  self-seeking,  and 
asking  only  the  right  to  give,  she  poured  out  the 
treasure  of  her  soul  at  his  feet,  though  her 
pride  demanded  that  he  must  never  know. 

When  she  went  into  the  house,  light  seemed 
to  enter  the  shaded  room  with  her.  No  one 
was  there,  but  the  open  piano  waited,  ready  to 
receive  a  confidence.  With  a  laugh  that  was 
half  a  sob  of  joy,  she  sat  down,  her  fingers  read 
ily  finding  the  one  thing  that  suited  her  mood. 

The  wild,  half -savage  music  rang  through 
the  house  in  full,  deep  chords,  but  only  Rose 
knew  the  words,  which,  in  her  mind,  fitted 
themselves  to  the  melody  as  though  she  dared 
to  sing  them: 

"  Less  than  the  dust,  beneath  thy  Chariot  wheel, 
Less  than  the  rust,  that  never  stained  thy  Sword, 
Less  than  the  trust  thou  hast  in  me,  O  Lord, 

Even  less  then  these. 

"  Less  than  the  weed  that  grows  beside  thy  door, 
Less  than  the  speed  of  hours  spent  far  from  thee, 
Less  than  the  need  thou  hast  in  life  of  me; 

Even  less  am  I." 


"  ©b  tbe 
little 
too re! " 


268 


©I&  IRose  anb  Silver 


(Biasness 


Upstairs,  Isabel  yawned  lazily,  and  wondered 
why  Rose  should  play  so  loud,  but  Aunt  Fran- 
cesca  smiled  to  herself,  for  she  knew  that  Alli 
son  was  better  and  that  Rose  was  glad. 


269 


XIX 

©ver  tbe  Bar 

AS  a  flower  may  bloom  in  a  night,  joy  re-  Cbe (5ue0t 
turned  to  Madame  Bernard's  house  after 
long  absence.  There  was  no  outward  sign,  for 
Rose  was  still  quiet  and  self-controlled,  but  her 
face  was  a  shade  less  pale  and  there  was  a 
tremulous  music  in  her  voice. 

Isabel  had  ceased  to  limp,  but  still  dwelt 
upon  the  shock  and  its  lingering  effects.  She 
amused  herself  in  her  own  way,  reading  paper- 
covered  novels,  feasting  upon  chocolates, 
teasing  Mr.  Boffin,  and  playing  solitaire.  Ma 
dame  remarked  to  Rose  that  Isabel  seemed  to 
have  a  cosmic  sense  of  time. 

The  guest  never  came  down-stairs  till  lunch 
eon  was  announced,  and  did  not  trouble  her 
self  to  make  an  elaborate,  or  even  appropriate 
toilet.  Madame  began  to  wonder  how  long 
Isabel  intended  to  remain  and  to  see  the  wisdom 
of  the  modern  fashion  of  appointing  the  hour 
of  departure  in  the  invitation. 

Yet,  as  she  said  to  herself  rather  grimly,  she 


IRose  anfc  Silver 


Una 
1ClorlJ> 
Hpart 


would  have  invited  Isabel  to  remain  through 
the  Summer,  and  perhaps,  in  the  early  Autumn 
she  might  return  to  town  of  her  own  accord. 
Moreover,  there  appeared  to  be  no  graceful 
way  of  requesting  an  invited  guest  to  leave. 

Though  Madame  was  annoyed  by  the  mere 
fact  of  Isabel's  presence,  she  had  ceased  to 
distress  Rose,  who  dwelt  now  in  a  world  apart 
from  the  others.  She  spent  her  afternoons 
at  the  other  house,  playing  softly  downstairs, 
reading  to  Allison,  or  talking  to  him  of  the 
brilliant  future  that  she  insisted  was  to  be  his. 

Neither  of  them  spoke  of  the  hour  in  which 
Rose  had  unwittingly  revealed  herself,  nor  did 
they  seem  to  avoid  the  subject.  Allison  had 
taken  her  for  granted,  on  a  high  plane  of  pure 
friendliness,  and  not  for  an  instant  did  he 
translate  her  overpowering  impulse  as  any 
thing  but  womanly  pity. 

She  practised  for  an  hour  or  two  every  morn 
ing  that  she  might  play  better  in  the  afternoon, 
she  ransacked  the  library  for  interesting 
and  cheerful  things  to  read  to  him,  and  she 
even  found  a  game  or  two  that  he  seemed  to 
enjoy.  From  Madame  Francesca's  spotless 
kitchen  came  many  a  dainty  dish  to  tempt  his 
capricious  appetite,  and  all  the  flowers  from 
both  gardens,  daily,  made  a  bower  of  his  room. 

Constantly,  too,  Rose  brought  the  message 
of  hopefulness  and  good  cheer.  From  her 
abounding  life  and  superb  vitality  he  drew 


tbe 


271 


unconscious  strength;  the  hidden  forces  that 
defy  analysis  once  more  exerted  themselves  in 
his  behalf.  So  far  as  man  is  of  the  earth, 
earthy,  by  the  earth  and  its  fruits  may  he  be 
healed,  but  the  heavenly  part  of  him  may  be 
ministered  unto  only  by  the  angels  of 
God. 

His  old  fear  of  the  darkness  had  gone  and  the 
night  light  had  been  taken  out  into  the  hall. 
In  the  faint  glow,  he  could  see  the  objects  in  his 
room  distinctly,  during  the  brief  intervals  of 
wakefulness.  A  flower  dropped  from  its  vase, 
a  book  lying  half  open,  a  crumpled  handker 
chief  upon  his  chiffonier,  the  pervading  scent 
of  attar  of  roses  and  dried  petals — all  these 
brought  him  a  strange  sense  of  nearness  to 
Rose,  as  a  perfume  may  be  distilled  from  a 
memory. 

Day  by  day,  Isabel  became  more  remote. 
He  thought  of  her  without  emotion  when  he 
thought  of  her  at  all,  for  only  women  may 
know  the  agony  of  love  enduring  after  the 
foundation  upon  which  it  was  built  has  been 
swept  away. 

The  strange  men  from  distant  places  came 
less  frequently.  Days  would  pass,  and  bring 
no  word.  The  country  doctor  who  had  first 
been  called  stopped  occasionally  when  time 
permitted,  and  his  faithful  old  horse  needed  a 
little  rest,  but  he  only  shook  his  head.  He  ad 
mitted  to  the  nurse  that  he  was  greatly  sur- 


272 


IRose  anfc  Silver 


tlbeflew 
Comer 


prised  because  the  inevitable  operation  had  not 
yet  become  imperative. 

Colonel  Kent  seemed  to  have  been  lost  for 
almost  a  week.  During  that  time  no  word  had 
been  received  from  him  and  Madame's  daily 
bulletin:  "No  change  for  the  worse/'  had  been 
returned,  marked  "not  found."  She  was 
vaguely  troubled  and  uneasy,  fearing  that 
something  might  have  happened  to  him,  but 
forebore  to  speak  of  her  fears. 

One  morning,  while  Allison  was  still  asleep, 
the  nurse  wakened  him  gently.  "A  new  man, 
Mr.  Allison;  can  you  see  him  now?  " 

"  I  don't  care,"  he  replied.     "  Bring  him  in." 

The  newcomer  was  a  young  man — one 
would  have  guessed  that  the  ink  was  scarcely 
dry  on  his  diploma.  He  had  a  determined 
mouth,  a  square  chin,  kind  eyes,  and  the  buoy 
ant  youthful  courage  that,  by  itself,  carries 
one  far  upon  any  chosen  path. 

He  smiled  at  Allison  and  Allison  smiled  back 
at  him,  in  friendly  fashion.  "Now,"  said  the 
young  man,  "let 's  see." 

His  big  fingers  were  astonishingly  gentle, 
they  worked  with  marvellous  dexterity,  and, 
for  the  first  time,  the  dreaded  examination 
was  almost  painless.  He  asked  innumerable 
questions  both  of  Allison  and  the  nurse, 
and  wanted  to  know  who  had  been  there 
previously. 

The  nurse  had  kept  no  record,  but  she  knew 


<S>x>er  tbe 


273 


some  of  the  men,  and  mentioned  their  names — 
names  to  conjure  with  in  the  professional 
world.  Even  the  two  great  Germans  had  said 
it  was  of  no  use. 

The  young  man  wrinkled  his  brows  in  deep 
thought.  "What  have  you  been  using?"  he 
inquired,  of  the  nurse. 

"  Everything.    Come  here." 

She  led  him  into  the  next  room,  where  a 
formidable  array  of  bottles  and  boxes  almost 
covered  a  large  table.  He  looked  them  all  over, 
carefully,  scrutinising  the  names  on  the 
druggist's  labels,  sniffing  here  and  there, 
occasionally  holding  some  one  bottle  to  the 
light,  and  finally,  out  of  sheer  youthful 
curiosity,  counting  them. 

Then  he  laughed — a  cheery,  hearty  laugh 
that  woke  long-sleeping  echoes  in  the  old  house 
and  made  Allison  smile,  in  the  next  room. 
"  It  seems,"  he  commented,  "that  a  doctor  has 
to  leave  a  prescription  as  other  men  leave 
cards — just  as  a  polite  reminder  of  the  call." 

"What  shall  I  do  with  them?  " 

"Dump  'em  all  out— I  don't  care.  Or,  wait 
a  minute;  there  's  no  rush." 

He  went  back  to  Allison.  "  I  see  you  've 
got  quite  a  drug  store  here.  Are  you  partic 
ularly  attached  to  any  special  concoction  ?  " 

"  Indeed  I  'm  not.  Most  of  'em  have  hurt — 
sinfully." 

"  I  don't  know  that  anything  has  to  be  pain- 


H  jf  ormito 
able  Hvcag 


274 


(Bocto 


ful  or  disagreeable  in  order  to  be  healing,"  re 
marked  the  young  man,  thoughtfully.  "Would 
you  like  to  throw  'em  all  out  of  the  window  ?  " 

"  I  certainly  would." 

"All  right— that  '11  be  good  business."  He 
swung  Allison's  bed  around  so  that  his  right 
arm  rested  easily  on  the  window  sill,  requested 
the  nurse  to  wheel  the  drug  store  within  easy 
reach,  and  rapidly  uncorked  bottle  after  bottle 
with  his  own  hands. 

"Now  then,  get  busy." 

He  sat  by,  smiling,  while  Allison  poured  the 
varying  contents  of  the  drug  store  on  the 
ground  below  and  listened  for  the  sound  of 
breaking  glass  when  the  bottle  swiftly  followed 
the  last  gurgling  drop.  When  all  had  been  dis 
posed  of,  the  nurse  took  out  the  table,  and  the 
young  man  smiled  expansively  at  Allison. 

"Feel  better?" 

"I— think  so." 

"Good.  Now,  look  here.  How  much  does 
your  hand  mean  to  you  ?  " 

"How  much  does  it  mean?  "  repeated  Alli 
son,  pitifully.  "It  means  life,  career — every 
thing." 

"  Enough  to  make  a  fight  for  it  then,  I  take 
it." 

Dull  colour  surged  by  waves  into  Allison's 
white  face.  "What  do  you  mean  ?  "  he  asked, 
in  a  broken  voice.  "Tell  me  what  you 
mean  ! " 


<S>\>er  tbe  Bar 


275 


But  the  young  man  was  removing  his  coat. 
"Hot  day,"  he  was  saying,  "and  the  young 
lady  won't  mind  my  negligee  as  long  as  the 
braces  don't  show.  Strange — how  women 
hate  nice  new  braces.  Say/'  he  said  to  the 
nurse  as  she  returned,  "get  somebody  to  go  up 
to  the  station  and  bring  down  my  trunk,  will 
you  ?  " 

"Trunk?  "echoed  Allison. 

"Sure,"  smiled  the  young  man.  "My  in 
structions  were  to  stay  if  I  saw  any  hope,  so  I 
brought  along  my  trunk.  I  'm  always  looking 
for  a  chance  to  hope,  and  I  've  discovered  that 
it 's  one  of  the  very  best  ways  to  find  it." 

The  nurse  had  hastened  away  upon  her 
errand.  The  new  element  in  the  atmosphere 
of  the  sick  room  had  subtly  affected  her, 
also. 

"Don't  fence,"  Allison  was  saying,  huskily. 
"  I  've  asked  so  much  that  I  've  quit  asking." 

The  young  man  nodded  complete  under 
standing.  "I  know.  The  moss-backs  sit 
around  and  look  wise,  and  expect  to  work  mir 
acles  on  a  patient  who  does  n't  know  what 
they  're  doing  and  finally  gets  the  impression 
that  he  is  n't  considered  fit  to  know.  Far  be  it 
from  me  to  disparage  the  pioneers  of  our  noble 
profession,  but  I  'm  modest  enough  to  admit 
that  I  need  help,  and  the  best  help,  every  time, 
comes  from  the  patient  himself." 

He  drew  up  his  chair  beside  the  bed  and  sat 


ttbe  Hew 
Element 


276 


<S>R>  1Rose  anfc  Silver 


down.  Allison's  eager  eyes  did  not  swerve 
from  his  face. 

"  Mind  you,"  he  went  on,  "  I  don't  promise 
anything — I  can't,  conscientiously.  In  getting 
a  carriage  out  of  the  mud,  more  depends  upon 
the  horse  than  on  the  driver.  Nature  will 
have  to  do  the  work — I  can't.  All  I  can  do  is 
to  guide  her  gently.  If  she  's  pushed,  she  gets 
balky.  Maybe  there 's  something  ahead  of 
her  that  I  don't  see,  and  there  's  no  use  spurring 
her  ahead  when  she  's  got  to  stop  and  get  her 
breath  before  she  can  go  up  hill. 

"That  hand  can't  heal  itself  without  good 
blood  to  draw  upon,  and  good  material  to 
make  bone  and  nerve  of,  so  we  '11  begin  to 
stoke  up,  gradually,  and  meanwhile,  I  '11  camp 
right  here  and  see  what 's  doing.  And  if  you 
can  bring  yourself  to  sort  of — well,  sing  at  your 
work,  you  know,  it 's  going  to  make  the  job  a 
lot  easier." 

Allison  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief.  "You 
give  me  hope,"  he  said. 

"Sure,"  returned  the  young  man,  with  an 
infectious  laugh.  "A  young  surgeon  never  has 
much  else  when  he  starts,  nor  for  some  time 
to  come.  Want  to  sit  up  ?  " 

"Why,"  Allison  breathed,  in  astonishment, 
"I  can't." 

"Who  said  so?" 

"Everybody.  They  all  said  I  must  lie 
perfectly  still." 


tbe  Bar 


277 


"Of  course/'  mused  the  young  man,  aloud, 
"blood  may  move  around  all  right  of  itself,  and 
then  again,  it  may  not.  Would  n't  do  any 
harm  to  stir  it  up  a  bit  and  remind  the  red 
corpuscles  not  to  loaf  on  the  job." 

The  nurse  came  back,  to  say  that  the  trunk 
would  be  up  immediately. 

"Good.  Can  I  have  a  bunk  in  the  next 
room  ?  "  Without  waiting  for  her  answer,  he 
requested  raw  eggs  and  milk,  beaten  up  with  a 
little  cream  and  sherry. 

While  Allison  was  drinking  it,  he  moved  a 
big  easy  chair  up  near  the  window,  opened 
every  shutter  wide,  and  let  the  hot  sun  stream 
into  the  room.  He  expeditiously  made  a  sling 
for  the  injured  hand,  slipped  it  painlessly  into 
place,  put  a  strong  arm  under  Allison's  shoul 
ders,  and  lifted  him  to  a  sitting  posture  on  the 
edge  of  the  bed.  "Now  then,  forward,  march  ! 
Just  lean  on  me." 

Muscles  long  unused  trembled  under  the 
strain  but  finally  he  made  the  harbour  of  the 
easy  chair,  gasping  for  breath.  "Good," 
said  the  young  man.  "At  this  rate,  we'll 
soon  have  clothes  on  us  and  be  outdoors." 

"Really?  "  asked  Allison,  scarcely  daring  to 
believe  his  ears. 

"Sure,"  replied  the  marvellous  young  man, 
confidently.  "What's  the  use  of  keeping  a 
whole  body  in  the  house  on  account  of  one 
hand  ?  I  'm  going  to  tell  you  just  one  thing 


a>arcbt 


278 


TCose  an&  Silver 


/Bore  <3oo& 
3Businesa 


more,  then  we  '11  quit  talking  shop  and  proceed 
to  politics  or  anything  else  you  like. 

"  I  knew  a  man  once  who  was  a  trapeze  per 
former  in  a  circus  and  he  was  training  his  son 
in  the  same  lofty  profession.  The  boy  insisted 
that  he  could  n't  do  it,  and  finally  the  man  said 
to  him:  'Look  here,  kid,  if  you'll  put  your 
heart  over  the  bar,  your  body  will  follow  all 
right/  and  sure  enough  it  did.  Now  you  get 
your  heart  over  the  bar,  and  trust  your  hand  to 
follow.  Get  the  idea?" 

The  sound  of  the  piano  below  chimed  in  with 
the  answer.  A  rippling,  laughing  melody 
danced  up  the  stairs  and  into  the  room. 
The  young  man  listened  a  moment,  then  asked, 
"Who?" 

"A  friend  of  mine — my  very  dearest 
friend." 

"More  good  business.  I  think  I  '11  go  down 
and  talk  to  her.  What 's  her  name?  " 

"Rose." 

"What's  the  rest  of  it?  I  can't  start  in 
that  way,  you  know.  Bad  form." 

"Bernard— Rose  Bernard." 

As  quickly  and  silently  as  he  did  everything 
else,  the  young  man  went  down-stairs,  and  the 
piano  stopped,  but  only  for  a  moment,  as  he 
requested  her,  with  an  airy  wave  of  the  hand, 
not  to  mind  him.  When  she  finished  the  old 
song  she  was  playing,  he  called  her  by  name, 
introduced  himself,  and  invited  her  out  into 


<§>\>er  tbe 


the  garden,  because,  as  he  said,  "walls  not  only 
have  ears,  but  telephones." 

"Say,"  he  began,  by  way  of  graceful  prelim 
inary,  "you  look  to  me  as  though  you  had 
sense." 

"Thank  you,"  she  replied,  demurely. 

"Sense,"  he  resumed,  is  lamentably  scarce, 
especially  the  variety  misnamed  common — or 
even  horse.  I  'm  no  mental  healer,  nor  any 
thing  of  that  sort,  you  know,  but  it 's  reason 
able  to  suppose  that  if  the  mind  can  control 
the  body,  after  a  fashion,  when  the  body  is 
well,  it 's  entitled  to  some  show  when  the 
body  is  n't  well,  don't  you  think  so?  " 

Rose  assented,  though  she  did  not  quite 
grasp  what  he  said.  His  all  pervading  breezi- 
ness  affected  her  much  as  it  had  Allison. 

"Now,"  he  continued,  "I  'm  not  unprofes 
sional  enough  to  knock  anybody,  but  I  gather 
that  there  's  been  a  procession  of  undertakers 
down  here  making  that  poor  chap  upstairs 
think  there  's  no  chance.  I  'm  not  saying  that 
there  is,  but  there 's  no  reason  why  we 
should  n't  trot  along  until  we  have  to  stop.  It 
is  n't  necessary  to  amputate  just  yet,  and  until 
it  is  necessary,  there  's  nothing  to  hinder  us 
from  working  like  the  devil  to  save  him  from 
it,  is  there  ?  " 

"Surely  not." 

"All  right.    Are  you  in  on  it?  " 

"I'm    'in,'"    replied    Rose,    slowly,    "on 


"I'm 
'In 


» >• 


280 


©tt>  1Ro0e  anfc  Stiver 


wftb  tbc 
Stance  " 


anything  and  everything  that  human  power 
can  do,  day  or  night,  until  we  come  to  the  last 
ditch." 

"Good  for  you.  I  '11  appoint  you  first 
lieutenant.  I  guess  that  nurse  is  all  right, 
though  she  doesn't  seem  to  be  unduly 
optimistic." 

"  She  's  had  nothing  to  make  her  so.  Every 
thing  has  been  discouraging  so  far." 

"Plenty  of  discouragement  in  the  world," 
he  observed,  "handed  out  free  of  charge,  with 
out  paying  people  to  bring  it  into  the  house 
when  you  're  peevish." 

"Very  true,"  she  answered,  then  her  eyes 
filled.  "Oh,"  she  breathed,  with  white  lips, 
"if  you  can — if  you  only  can " 

"We  '11  have  a  try  for  it,"  he  said,  then  con 
tinued,  kindly:  "no  salt  water  upstairs,  you 
know." 

"  I  know,"  she  sighed,  wiping  her  eyes. 

"Then  'on  with  the  dance — let  joy  be  un- 
confmed.'  " 

Rose  obediently  went  back  to  the  piano. 
The  arrival  of  the  trunk  and  the  composition 
of  a  hopeful  telegram  to  Colonel  Kent  occupied 
the  resourceful  visitor  for  ten  or  fifteen  min 
utes.  Then  he  went  back  to  his  patient,  who 
had  already  begun  to  miss  him. 

"  You  forgot  to  tell  me  your  name,"  Allison 
suggested. 

"Sure  enough.    Call   me  Jack,  or  Doctor 


Over  tbe  UBar 


281 


Jack,  when  I  'm  not  here  and  have  to  be 
called." 

"But,  as  you  said  yourself  a  few  minutes 
ago,  I  can't  begin  that  way.  What 's  the 
rest  of  it  ?  " 

"  If  you  '11  listen,"  responded  the  young  man, 
solemnly,  "  I  will  unfold  before  your  eyes  the 
one  blot  upon  the  'scutcheon  of  my  promising 
career.  My  full  name  is  Jonathan  Ebenezer 
Middlekauffer." 

"What — how — I  mean — excuse  me,"  stam 
mered  Allison. 

The  young  man  laughed  joyously.  "You 
can  search  me,"  he  answered,  with  a  shrug. 
"The  gods  must  have  been  in  a  sardonic 
mood  about  the  time  I  arrived  to  gladden  this 
sorrowful  sphere.  I  've  never  used  more  of  it 
than  I  could  help,  and  everybody  called  me 
'Jem'  until  I  went  to  college,  the  initials 
making  a  shorter  and  more  agreeable  name. 
But  before  I  'd  been  there  a  week,  I  was 
'Jemima'  or  'Aunt  Jemima'  to  the  whole  class. 
So  I  changed  it  myself,  though  it  took  a 
thrashing  to  make  two  or  three  of  'em  remem 
ber  that  my  name  was  Jack." 

"  How  did  you  happen  to  come  here  ? " 
queried  Allison,  without  much  interest. 

"The  man  who  was  down  here  on  the  fifth 
sent  me.  He  told  me  about  you  and  suggested 
that  my  existence  might  be  less  wearing  if  I  had 
something  to  do.  He  just  passed  along  his 


Ube  Slot 

on  tbe 
*Scutcbeon 


282 


©l&  IRose  anfc  Silver 


ttbe 

•flmpo08ible 


instructions  and  faded  gracefully  out  of  sight, 
saying:  'You'd  better  go,  Middlekauffer,  as 
your  business  seems  to  be  the  impossible/  so  I 
packed  up  and  took  the  first  train/' 

"What  did  he  mean  by  saying  that  your 
business  was  impossible  ?  " 

"Not  impossible,  but  the  impossible.  Good 
Heavens,  man,  don't  things  get  mixed  like 
that !  All  he  meant  was  that  such  small  repu 
tation  as  I  have  been  able  to  acquire  was 
earned  by  doing  jobs  that  the  other  fellows 
shirked.  I  'm  ambidextrous/'  he  added, 
modestly,  "and  I  guess  that  helps  some. 
Let 's  play  piquet." 

When  Rose  came  up,  an  hour  or  so  later,  they 
were  absorbed  in  their  game,  and  did  not  see 
her  until  she  spoke.  She  was  overjoyed  to  see 
Allison  sitting  up,  but,  observing  that  she  was 
not  especially  needed,  invented  a  plausible 
errand  and  said  good-bye,  promising  to  come 
the  next  day. 

"Nice  girl,"  remarked  Doctor  Jack,  shuffling 
the  cards  for  Allison.  "Mighty  nice  girl." 

"My  future  wife,"  answered  Allison, 
proudly,  forgetting  his  promise. 

"More  good  business.  You'd  be  a  brute 
if  you  did  n't  save  that  hand  for  her.  She  's 
entitled  to  the  best  that  you  can  give  her." 

"And  she  shall  have  it,"  returned  Allison. 

Doctor  Jack's  quick  ears  noted  a  new  deter 
mination  in  the  voice,  that  only  a  few  hours 


<S>x>er  tbe  Bar 


283 


before  had  been  weak  and  wavering,  and  he 
nodded  his  satisfaction  across  the  card  table. 

That  night,  while  Allison  slept  soundly,  and 
the  nurse  also,  having  been  told  that  she  was 
off  duty  until  called,  the  young  man  recklessly 
burned  gas  in  the  next  room,  with  pencil  and 
paper  before  him.  First,  he  carefully  consid 
ered  the  man  with  whom  he  had  to  deal, 
then  mapped  out  a  line  of  treatment,  complete 
to  the  last  detail. 

"There,"  he  said  to  himself,  "by  that  we 
stand  or  fall." 

The  clocks  struck  three,  but  the  young  man 
still  sat  there,  oblivious  to  his  surroundings,  or 
to  the  fact  that  even  strong  and  healthy  people 
occasionally  need  a  little  sleep.  At  last  a 
smile  lighted  up  his  face.  "  What  fun  it  would 
be,"  he  thought,  "for  him  to  give  a  special 
concert,  and  invite  every  blessed  moss-back 
who  said  'impossible!'  It  wouldn't  please 
me  or  anything,  would  it,  to  stand  at  the  door 
and  see  'em  come  in  ?  Oh,  no  ! " 

There  was  a  stir  in  the  next  room,  and  Alli 
son  called  him,  softly. 

"  Yes  ?  "  It  was  only  a  word,  but  the  tone, 
as  always,  was  vibrant  with  good  cheer. 

"I  just  wanted  to  tell  you,"  Allison  said, 
"  that  my  heart  is  over  the  bar." 

In  the  dark,  the  two  men's  hands  met. 
"More  good  business,"  commented  Doctor 
Jack.  "Just  remember  what  somebody  said 


TUKbat  ff  un 
lit 
JSel 


284 


Olb  tRose  anfc  Silver 


Bnswerfng 
tbc  Signal 


of  Columbus:  'One  day,  with  life  and  hope 
and  heart,  is  time  enough  to  find  a  world/  Go 
to  sleep  now.  I  '11  see  you  in  the  morning." 

"All  right,"  Allison  returned,  but  he  did  not 
sleep,  even  after  certain  low  sounds  usually 
associated  with  comfortable  slumber  came  from 
the  doctor's  room.  He  lay  there,  waiting 
happily,  while  from  far,  mysterious  sources, 
life  streamed  into  him,  as  the  sap  rises  into  the 
trees  at  the  call  of  Spring.  Across  the  de 
spairing  darkness,  a  signal  had  been  flashed  to 
him,  and  he  was  answering  it,  in  every  fibre 
of  body  and  soul. 


XX 

IRteen  from  tbe 


COLONEL  KENT,  in  a  distant  structure 
V^<  which,  by  courtesy,  was  called  "the 
hotel,"  had  pushed  away  his  breakfast  un- 
tasted,  save  for  a  small  portion  of  the  non 
descript  fluid  the  frowsy  waitress  called 
"coffee."  He  had  been  delayed,  missed  his 
train  at  the  junction  point,  and,  fretting  with 
impatience,  had  been  obliged  to  pass  the  night 
there. 

He  had  wired  to  Madame  Francesca  the 
night  before,  but,  as  yet,  had  received  no 
answer.  He  had  personally  consulted  every  sur 
geon  of  prominence  in  the  surrounding  coun 
try,  and  all  who  would  not  say  flatly,  without 
further  information  than  he  could  give  them, 
that  there  was  no  chance,  had  been  asked  to  go 
and  see  for  themselves. 

One  by  one,  their  reports  came  back  to  him, 
unanimously  hopeless.  Heartsick  and  dis 
couraged,  he  rallied  from  each  disappointment, 
only  to  face  defeat  again.  He  had  spent 
weeks  in  fruitless  journeying,  following  up 


286 


IRose  anfc  Silver 


H 

•'  Ibuman 
Interest" 


every  clue  that  presented  itself,  waited  days 
at  hospitals  for  chiefs  of  staff,  and  made  the 
dreary  round  of  newspaper  offices,  where  know 
ledge  of  every  conceivable  subject  is  supposedly 
upon  file  for  the  asking. 

One  enterprising  editor,  too  modern  to  be 
swayed  by  ordinary  human  instincts,  had 
turned  the  Colonel  over  to  the  star  reporter — 
a  young  man  with  eyes  like  Allison's.  By 
well-timed  questions  and  sympathetic  offers 
of  assistance,  he  dragged  the  whole  story  of 
his  wanderings  from  the  unsuspecting  old 
soldier. 

It  made  a  double  page  in  the  Sunday  edition, 
including  the  illustrations — a  "human  inter 
est"  story  of  unquestionable  value,  introduced 
by  a  screaming  headline  in  red:  "Old  Soldier  on 
the  March  to  Save  Son.  Violinist  about  to 
Lose  Hand." 

When  the  Colonel  saw  it,  his  eyes  filled  so 
that  he  could  not  see  the  words  that  danced 
through  the  mist,  and  the  paper  trembled  from 
his  hands  to  the  floor.  He  was  too  nearly 
heartbroken  to  be  angry,  and  too  deeply  hurt 
to  take  heed  of  the  last  stab. 

No  word  reached  him  until  late  at  night, 
when  he  arrived  at  the  metropolitan  hotel 
that  he  had  made  his  headquarters.  When 
he  registered,  two  telegrams  were  handed  to 
him,  and  he  tore  them  open  eagerly.  The  first 
was  from  Madame  Francesca: 


TRisen  from  tbe  IDeafc 


287 


"Slight  change  for  the  better.  New  man 
gives  hope.  Better  return  at  once." 

The  second  one  was  wholly  characteristic: 

"Willing  to  take  chance.  Am  camping  on 
job.  Come  home."  It  was  signed:  "J.  E. 
Middlekauffer." 

When  he  got  to  his  room,  the  Colonel  sat 
down  to  think.  He  knew  no  one  of  that  name 
—  had  never  even  heard  it  before.  Perhaps 
Francesca  —  it  would  have  been  like  her,  to 
work  with  him  and  say  nothing  until  she  had 
something  hopeful  to  say. 

His  heart  warmed  toward  her,  then  he  forgot 
her  entirely  in  a  sudden  realisation  of  the  vast 
meaning  of  the  two  bits  of  yellow  paper. 
Why,  it  was  hope;  it  was  a  fighting  chance 
presenting  itself  where  hitherto  had  been  only 
despair  !  He  could  scarcely  believe  it.  He 
took  the  two  telegrams  closer  to  the  light,  and 
read  the  blessed  words  over  and  over  again, 
then,  trembling  with  weakness  and  something 
more,  tottered  back  to  his  chair. 

Until  then,  he  had  not  known  how  weary  he 
was,  nor  how  the  long  weeks  of  anxiety  and 
fruitless  effort  had  racked  him  to  the  soul. 
As  one  may  bear  a  burden  bravely,  yet  faint 
the  moment  it  is  lifted,  his  strength  failed  him 
in  the  very  hour  that  he  had  no  need  of  it. 
He  sat  there  for  a  long  time  before  he  was  able 
to  shut  off  the  light  and  creep  into  bed,  with 
his  tear-wet  cheek  pillowed  upon  one  telegram, 


paper 


288 


IRose  anb  Stiver 


B  living 


and  a  wrinkled  hand  closely  clasping  the  other, 
as  though  holding  fast  to  the  message  meant 
the  keeping  of  the  hope  it  brought. 

Utterly  exhausted,  he  slept  until  noon. 
When  he  woke,  it  was  with  the  feeling  that 
something  vitally  important  had  happened. 
He  could  not  remember  what  it  was  until  he 
heard  the  rustling  of  paper  and  saw  the  two 
telegrams.  He  read  them  once  more,  in  the 
clear  light  of  day,  fearing  to  find  the  message 
but  a  fantasy  of  the  night.  To  his  unbounded 
relief,  it  was  still  there — no  dream  of  water 
to  the  man  dying  of  thirst,  but  a  living  reality 
that  sunlight  did  not  change. 

"Thank  God,"  he  cried  aloud,  sobbing  for 
very  joy,  "Thank  God!" 

Meanwhile,  the  Resourceful  One  had  shown 
the  nurse  how  to  cut  a  sleeve  out  of  one  of 
Allison's  old  coats,  and  open  the  under-arm 
seam.  Having  done  this,  she  was  requested  to 
treat  a  negligee  shirt  in  the  same  way.  Then 
the  village  barber  was  sent  for,  and  instructed 
to  do  his  utmost. 

"  Funny,"  remarked  Doctor  Jack,  pensively, 
"  that  nobody  has  thought  of  doing  that  before. 
If  I  had  n't  come  just  as  I  did,  you  'd  soon 
have  looked  like  a  chimpanzee,  and,  eventually, 
you  'd  have  been  beyond  the  reach  of  anything 
but  a  lawn-mower.  They  did  n't  even  think 
to  braid  your  hair  and  tie  it  with  a  blue  ribbon." 


TCteen  from  tbe  2)ea& 


289 


The  nurse  laughed;  so  did  Allison,  but  the 
pensive  expression  of  the  young  man's  face  did 
not  change. 

"  I  've  had  occasion  lately,"  he  continued, 
"to  observe  the  powerful  tonic  effect  of 
clothes.  A  woman  patient  told  me  once  that 
the  moral  support  afforded  by  a  well-fitting 
corset  was  inconceivable  to  the  mind  of  a  mere 
man.  She  said  that  a  corset  is  to  a  woman 
what  a  hat  is  to  a  man — it  prepares  for  any 
emergency,  enables  one  to  meet  life  on  equal 
terms,  and  even  to  face  a  rebellious  cook  or 
janitor  with  '  that  repose  which  marks  the  caste 
of  Vere  de  Vere.'  " 

"I  've  often  wondered,"  returned  Allison, 
"why  I  felt  so  much — well,  so  much  more 
adequate  with  my  hat  on." 

"Clear  case  of  inherited  instincts.  The  wild 
dog  used  to  make  himself  a  smooth  bed  in  the 
rushes  of  long  grass  by  turning  around  several 
times  upon  the  selected  spot.  Consequently, 
the  modern  dog  has  to  do  the  same  stunt  before 
he  can  go  to  sleep.  The  hat  is  a  modification 
of  the  helmet,  which  always  had  to  be  worn 
outside  the  house,  in  the  days  when  hold-ups 
and  murders  were  even  more  frequent  than 
now,  and  the  desire  for  a  walking-stick  comes 
from  the  old  fashion  of  carrying  a  spear  or  a 
sword.  If  a  man  took  off  his  helmet,  it  was 
equivalent  to  saying:  'In  the  presence  of  my 
friend,  I  am  safe.'  When  he  takes  off  his  hat 


flmporta 

ance  of  a 

ftat 


290 


IRose  ant)  Silver 


ADerelg 

Sense 


to  a  lady  now,  he  merely  means: '  You  're  not  a 
voter/  You  '11  notice  that  in  any  gathering  of 
men,  helmets  are  still  worn." 

So  he  chattered,  with  apparent  unconcern, 
but,  none  the  less,  he  was  keenly  watching  his 
patient.  With  tact  that  would  have  done 
credit  to  a  diplomat,  he  kept  the  conversation 
in  agreeable  channels.  By  noon,  Allison  had 
his  clothes  on,  the  coat  being  pinned  under  the 
left  arm  with  two  safety  pins  that  did  not 
show,  and  was  out  upon  an  upper  veranda. 

Doctor  Jack  encouraged  him  to  walk  when 
ever  he  felt  that  he  could,  even  though  it  was 
only  to  the  other  end  of  the  veranda  and  back 
to  his  chair.  Somewhat  to  his  astonishment, 
Allison  began  to  feel  better. 

"  I  believe  you  're  a  miracle-worker,"  he 
said.  "Two  days  ago,  I  was  in  bed,  with 
neither  strength,  ambition,  nor  hope.  Now 
I  've  got  all  three." 

"No  miracle,"  replied  the  other  modestly. 
"Merely  sense." 

That  afternoon  the  Crosby  twins  telephoned 
to  know  whether  they  might  call,  and  the 
nurse  brought  the  query  upstairs.  "  If  they  're 
amusing,"  said  the  doctor,  "let  'em  come." 

Allison  replied  that  the  twins  had  been  highly 
amusing — until  they  ran  "The  Yellow  Peril" 
over  his  left  hand.  "  Poor  little  devils,"  he 
mused;  "they've  got  something  on  their 
minds." 


IRtsen  from  tbe  H>eab 


291 


"Mighty  lucky  for  you  that  it  wasn't  a 
macadamised  boulevard  instead  of  a  sandy 
country  road/'  observed  the  doctor.  "The 
softness  underneath  has  given  us  a  doubt  to 
work  on." 

"How  so?" 

"It's  easier  to  crush  anything  on  a  hard 
surface  than  it  is  on  a  pillow,  is  n't  it?  " 

"Of  course— I  hadn't  thought  of  that. 
If  there  had  been  more  sand " 

"  I  look  to  you  to  furnish  that,"  returned  the 
other  with  a  quick  twist  of  meaning.  "  You  've 
got  plenty  of  sand,  if  you  have  half  a  chance 
to  show  it." 

"  How  long — when  do  you  think  you  '11 
know  ? "  Allison  asked,  half  afraid  of  the 
answer. 

"  If  I  knew,  I  'd  be  glad  to  tell  you,  but  I 
don't.  I  've  found  out  that  it 's  easier  to 
say  'I  don't  know'  straight  out  in  plain  Eng 
lish  than  it  is  to  side-track.  It  used  to  be  bad 
form,  professionally,  to  admit  ignorance,  but 
it  is  n't  now.  People  soon  find  it  out  and  you 
might  as  well  tell  'em  at  the  start.  You  just 
go  on  and  keep  the  fuel  bins  well  supplied  and 
the  red  corpuscles  busy  and  pretty  soon  we  '11 
see  what 's  doing." 

The  twins  were  late  in  coming,  because  they 
had  had  a  long  discussion  as  to  the  propriety 
of  wearing  their  sable  garments.  Romeo,  dis 
liking  the  trouble  of  changing,  argued  that 


"H  Don't 


292 


©l&  1Rose  ant)  Silver 


Ube  Cwf  ns 
Call 


Allison  ought  to  see  that  their  grief  was  sin 
cere.  Juliet  insisted  that  the  sight  would 
prove  depressing. 

At  the  end  of  a  lively  hour,  they  compro 
mised  upon  white,  which  was  worn  by  people 
in  mourning  and  was  not  depressing.  Juliet 
donned  a  muslin  gown  and  Romeo  put  on  his 
tennis  flannels,  which  happened  to  be  clean. 
As  they  took  pains  to  walk  upon  the  grass  and 
avoid  the  dusty  places,  they  were  compara 
tively  fresh  when  they  arrived,  though  very 
warm  from  the  long  walk. 

Both  had  inexpressibly  dreaded  seeing  Alli 
son,  yet  the  reality  lacked  the  anticipated 
terror,  as  often  happens.  They  liked  Doctor 
Jack  immensely  from  the  start  and  were 
greatly  relieved  to  see  Allison  up  and  outdoors, 
instead  of  lying  in  a  darkened  room. 

Almost  before  they  knew  it,  they  were  de 
scribing  their  sacrificial  rites  and  their  repent 
ance,  with  a  wealth  of  detail  that  left  nothing 
to  be  desired.  Doctor  Jack  was  suddenly 
afflicted  with  a  very  bad  cough,  but  he  kept 
his  back  to  them  and  used  his  handkerchief  a 
great  deal.  Even  Allison  was  amused  by 
their  austere  young  faces  and  the  earnest 
devotion  with  which  they  had  performed 
their  penance. 

"We've  had  your  car  fixed,"  said  Romeo. 
"It's  all  right  now." 

"We  've  paid  the  bill,"  added  Juliet. 


from  tbe  2>ea& 


293 


"We  want  to  pay  everything,"  Romeo  con 
tinued. 

"  Everything,"  she  echoed. 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  want  the  car,"  Allison 
answered,  kindly.  "If  I  had  been  a  good 
driver,  I  could  have  backed  into  the  turn  be 
fore  you  got  there  and  let  you  whiz  by.  I  'm 
sorry  yours  is  burned.  Won't  you  take 
mine?  " 

"No,"  answered  Romeo,  with  finality. 

"We  don't  deserve  even  to  ride  in  one," 
Juliet  remarked.  "We  ought  to  have  to 
walk  all  the  rest  of  our  lives." 

"You  people  make  me  tired,"  interrupted 
Doctor  Jack.  "Just  because  you  've  been 
mixed  up  in  an  accident,  you  're  about  to 
get  yourselves  locoed,  as  they  say  out  West,  on 
the  subject  of  automobiles.  By  careful  culti 
vation,  you  could  learn  to  shy  at  a  baby 
carriage  and  throw  a  fit  at  the  sight  of  a 
wheelbarrow.  The  time  to  nip  that  is  right 
at  the  start." 

"How  would  you  do  it?"  queried  Allison. 
His  heart  was  heavy  with  dread  of  all  automo 
biles,  past,  present,  and  to  come." 

"Same  way  they  break  a  colt.  Get  him 
used  to  the  harness,  then  to  shafts,  and  so  on. 
Now,  I  can  run  any  car  that  ever  was  built — 
make  it  stand  on  its  hind  wheels  if  I  want  to 
and  roll  through  a  crowd  without  making  any 
body  even  wink  faster.  I  think  I  '11  go  out 


*Up  flt  in 
tbe  »u& 


294 


1R08C  ant)  Stiver 


Ube 

JSreafctng 
In 


and  get  that  one  and  take  the  whole  bunch  of 
you  out  for  a  cure." 

Juliet  was  listening  attentively,  with  her 
blue  eyes  wide  open  and  her  scarlet  lips  parted. 
Doctor  Jack  was  subtly  conscious  of  a  new 
sensation. 

"I  see,"  she  said.  "Romie  made  me  hold 
snakes  by  their  tails  until  I  was  n't  afraid 
of  'em,  and  made  me  kill  mice  and  even  rats. 
Only  sissy  girls  are  afraid  of  snakes  and  rats. 
And  just  because  we  were  both  afraid  to  go 
by  the  graveyard  at  night,  we  made  ourselves 
do  it.  We  can  walk  through  it  now,  even  if 
there  isn't  any  moon,  and  never  dodge  a  single 
tombstone." 

"Was  it  hard  to  learn  to  do  it?  "  asked  the 
doctor.  If  he  was  amused,  he  did  not  show 
it  now. 

"No,"  Juliet  answered,  "because  just  before 
we  did  it,  we  read  about  it 's  being  called 
'God's  Acre/  So  I  told  Romie  that  God 
must  be  there  as  much  or  more  than  He  was 
anywhere  else,  so  how  could  we  be  afraid  ?  " 

"After  you  once  get  it  into  your  head  that 
God  is  everywhere,"  added  Romeo,  "you 
can't  be  afraid  because  there  's  nothing  to  be 
afraid  of." 

The  simple,  child-like  faith  appealed  to  both 
men  strongly.  Allison  was  much  surprised, 
for  he  had  not  imagined  that  there  was  a 
serious  side  to  the  twins. 


IRisen  from  tbe 


295 


"Will  you  forgive  us  ?  "  asked  Juliet,  humbly. 

"Please,"  added  Romeo. 

"With  all  my  heart,"  Allison  responded, 
readily.  "  I  've  never  thought  there  was 
anything  to  forgive." 

"Then  our  sacrifice  is  over,"  cried  Juliet, 
joyously. 

"Yes,"  her  brother  agreed,  with  a  wistful 
expression  on  his  face,  "  and  to-night  we  can 
have  something  to  eat." 

The  twins  never  lingered  long  after  the  ob 
ject  of  a  visit  was  accomplished,  so  they  rose 
almost  immediately  to  take  their  departure. 
"Cards,  Romie,"  Juliet  suggested,  in  an  audible 
whisper. 

Romeo  took  a  black  bordered  envelope  from 
an  inner  pocket  and  gravely  extended  a  card 
to  each.  Then  they  bowed  themselves  out, 
resisting  with  difficulty  the  temptation  to  slide 
down  the  banister  instead  of  going  downstairs 
two  steps  at  a  time. 

Doctor  Jack's  mobile  face  had  assumed  an 
entirely  new  expression.  He  put  away  the 
card  inscribed  The  Crosby  Twins  as  though  it 
were  an  article  of  great  value,  then  leaned  out 
over  the  veranda  railing  to  catch  a  glimpse 
of  the  two  flying  figures  in  white. 

"  Upon  my  word  !  "  he  exclaimed. 

Allison  laughed  aloud.  "You're  not  dis 
appointed  in  the  twins,  are  you  ?  " 

"  If  I  were  going  to  be  run  over,"  remarked 


Ubc 

Sacrifice 
©vec 


206 


the  Doctor,  ignoring  the  question,  "  I  believe 
I  'd  choose  them  to  do  it.  Think  of  the  little 
pagans  burning  their  car  and  repenting  in 
sackcloth  and  ashes,  not  to  mention  shooting 
the  dogs  and  living  upon  penitential  fare." 

"  Poor  kids,"  Allison  said,  with  a  sigh. 

"Tell  me  about  'em,"  pleaded  Doctor  Jack 
"Tell  me  everything  you  know  about  'em, 
especially  Juliet." 

"  I  don't  know  much,"  replied  the  other,  "for 
I  came  back  here  only  a  few  months  ago,  and 
when  I  went  abroad,  they  were  merely  en- 
fants  terriUes  imperfectly  controlled  by  a  pair 
of  doting  parents." 

However,  he  gladly  told  what  he  knew  of 
the  varied  exploits  of  the  twins,  and  his  eager 
listener  absorbed  every  word.  At  length 
when  Allison  could  think  of  no  more,  and  the 
afternoon  shadows  grew  long,  they  went  in. 

Consigning  his  patient  to  the  care  of  the 
nurse,  the  Doctor  went  down  into  the  garden, 
to  walk  back  and  forth  upon  the  long  paths, 
gaze,  open-mouthed,  down  the  road,  and 
moon,  like  the  veriest  schoolboy,  over  Juliet's 
blue  eyes. 

Her  pagan  simplicity,  her  frank  boyishness, 
and  her  absolute  unconsciousness  of  self, 
appealed  to  him  irresistibly.  "The  dear  kid," 
he  said  to  himself,  fondly;  "the  blessed  little 
kid  !  Wonder  how  old  she  is  ! " 

Then  he  remembered  that  Allison  had  told 


ffifsen  from  tbe  E>eat> 


297 


him  the  twins  were  almost  twenty-one,  but 
Juliet  seemed  absurdly  young  for  her  years. 
"The  world  will  take  her/'  he  sighed  to  himself, 
"and  change  her  in  a  little  while  so  even  her 
own  brother  won't  know  her.  She  '11  lace,  and 
wear  high  heels  and  follow  the  latest  fashion 
whether  it  suits  her  or  not,  and  touch  up  her 
pretty  cheeks  with  rouge,  twist  her  hair  into 
impossible  coiffures,  and  learn  all  the  wicked 
ways  of  the  world." 

The  wavy  masses  of  tawny  hair,  the  innocent 
blue  eyes,  as  wide  and  appealing  as  a  child's, 
the  clear,  rosy  skin,  and  the  parted  scarlet 
lips — all  these  would  soon  be  spoiled  by  the 
thousand  deceits  of  fashion. 

"And  I  can't  help  it/'  he  thought,  sadly. 
Then  his  face  brightened.  "By  George,"  he 
said  aloud,  "  I  'm  only  twenty-eight — wonder 
if  the  kid  could  learn  to  stand  me  around  the 
house."  He  laughed,  from  sheer  joy.  "  I  '11 
have  a  try  for  her,"  he  continued  to  himself. 
"  Me  for  Juliet,  and,  if  the  gods  are  kind,  Juliet 
for  me  ! " 

His  reflections  were  interrupted  by  the  arri 
val  of  the  station  hack.  He  instantly  surmised 
that  the  man  who  hurried  toward  the  house  was 
Colonel  Kent,  and,  on  the  veranda,  intercepted 
him. 

"Colonel  Kent?" 

"Yes.     Doctor ? 

"  Middlekauff er,  for  purposes  of  introduc- 


Juliet 


298 


IRose  anfc  Silver 


ttbe 
Colonel 
•Keturn 


tion.  For  purposes  of  conversation,  'Doctor 
Jack/  or  just  plain  'Jack/  Never  cared  much 
for  handles  to  names.  You  got  my  wire  ?  " 

"  Yes.    Who  sent  you  here  ?  " 

"  Forbes.  Down  here  on  the  fifth.  Met  him 
out  in  the  next  State,  at  an  operation.  He  told 
me  to  come,  as  my  business  was  the  impossible. 
Told  me  you  'd  stand  for  it,  don't  you  know, 
and  all  that  sort  of  thing?  " 

"  I  'm  very  glad.     How  is  he?  " 

"  Doing  very  nicely,  all  things  considered." 

"Is  there  a  chance?"  the  Colonel  cried, 
eagerly ;  "  a  real  chance  ?  " 

"My  dear  man,  until  amputation  is  the  only 
thing  to  be  done,  there 's  always  a  chance. 
Personally,  I  'm  very  hopeful,  though  I  've 
been  called  a  dreamer  more  than  once.  But 
we  've  got  him  chirked  up  a  lot,  and  he  's 
getting  his  nerve  back,  and  this  morning  I 
thought  I  detected  a  slight  improvement, 
though  I  was  afraid  to  tell  him  so.  We  've 
all  got  to  work  for  him  and  work  like  the  devil 
at  that." 

"If  work  will  do  it " 

"Nothing  worth  while  is  ever  done  without 
work.  Go  up  and  see  him." 

At  the  sound  of  a  familiar  step  upon  the 
stair,  Allison  turned  deathly  white.  He 
waited,  scarcely  daring  to  breathe,  until  the 
half-closed  door  opened,  and  his  father  stood 
before  him,  smiling  in  welcome.  Allison 


IRtsen  trom  tbe  Bea& 


sprang  forward,  unbelieving,  until  his  hand 
touched  his  father's,  not  cold,  as  though  he  had 
risen  from  the  grave,  but  warmly  human  and 
alive. 

"  Lad,  dear  lad  !    I  've  come  back  at  last !  " 
Allison's  answering  cry  of  joy  fairly  rang 
through    the    house.    "Dad!    Oh,    Dad!    I 
thought  you  were  dead  ! " 


300 


•fcope  ant> 
Doubt 


XXI 

Saveb— anb  lost 

A  LTERNATELY  possessed  by  hope  and 
/A  doubt,  the  young  surgeon  worked  during 
the  weeks  that  followed  as  he  had  never  worked 
before.  He  kept  his  doubt  to  himself,  however, 
and  passed  on  his  hope  to  the  others  when  he 
could  do  so  conscientiously.  Allison  had  ceased 
to  ask  questions,  but  eagerly  watched  the  doc 
tor's  face.  He  knew,  without  being  told,  just 
when  the  outlook  was  dubious  and  when  it  was 
encouraging. 

The  doctor  did  not  permit  either  Rose  or 
Colonel  Kent  to  hope  too  much.  Both  were 
with  Allison  constantly,  and  Madame  drove 
over  three  or  four  times  a  week.  Gradually  a 
normal  atmosphere  was  established,  and,  with 
out  apparent  effort,  they  kept  Allison  occupied 
and  amused. 

It  seemed  only  natural  and  right  that  Rose 
should  be  there,  and  both  Allison  and  his  father 
had  come  to  depend  upon  her,  in  a  way,  as 
though  she  were  the  head  of  the  household. 
The  servants  came  to  her  for  orders,  people 


Savefc— an£>  Xost 


301 


who  came  to  inquire  for  Allison  asked  for  her, 
and  she  saved  the  Colonel  from  many  a  lonely 
evening  after  Allison  had  said  good-night  and 
the  Doctor  had  gone  out  for  a  long  walk  as  he 
said,  "  to  clear  the  cobwebs  from  his  brain." 

Because  of  Isabel,  whom  he  felt  that  he 
could  not  meet,  the  Colonel  did  not  go  over  to 
Bernard's.  Allison  had  not  alluded  to  her  in 
any  way,  but  Madame  had  told  the  Colonel 
at  the  first  opportunity.  He  had  said,  quietly: 
"A  small  gain  for  so  great  a  loss,"  and  made  no 
further  comment,  yet  it  was  evident  that  he  was 
relieved. 

Rose  and  Allison  were  back  upon  their  old 
friendly  footing,  to  all  intents  and  purposes. 
Never  by  word  or  look  did  Rose  betray  herself; 
never  by  the  faintest  hint  did  Allison  suggest 
that  their  relation  to  each  other  had  in  any  way 
been  changed.  He  was  frankly  glad  to  have 
her  with  him,  urged  her  to  come  earlier  and  to 
stay  later,  and  gratefully  accepted  every  kind 
ness  she  offered. 

Perhaps  he  had  forgotten — Rose  rather 
thought  he  had,  but  her  self-revelation  stood 
before  her  always  like  a  vivid,  scarlet  hour 
in  a  procession  of  grey  days.  Yet  the  sting 
and  shame  of  it  were  curiously  absent,  for 
nothing  could  exceed  the  gentle  courtesy  and 
deference  that  Allison  instinctively  accorded 
her.  He  saw  her  always  as  a  thing  apart;  a 
goddess  who,  through  divine  pity,  had  stooped 


On  tbe  ©to 
jfrienMg 
jfooting 


302  ©It)  IRose  anfc  Silver 

for  an  instant  to  be  a  woman — and  had  swiftly 
returned  to  her  pedestal. 

Sustained  by  the  joy  of  service,  Rose  asked 
no  more.  Only  to  plan  little  surprises  for  him, 
to  anticipate  every  unspoken  wish,  to  keep  him 
cheery  and  hopeful,  to  read  or  play  to  him  with 
out  being  asked — these  things  were  as  the  life- 
blood  to  her  heart. 

She  had  blossomed,  too,  into  a  new  beauty. 
The  forty  years  had  put  lines  of  silver  into  her 
hair,  but  had  been  powerless  to  do  more.  Her 
lovely  face,  where  the  colour  came  and  went, 
the  fleeting  dimple  at  the  corner  of  her  mouth 
and  the  crimson  curve  of  her  lips  were  eloquent 
with  the  finer,  more  subtle  charm  of  maturity. 
Her  shining  eyes  literally  transfigured  her.  In 
their  dark  depths  was  a  mysterious  exaltation, 
as  from  some  secret,  holy  rapture  too  great  for 
words. 

Allison  saw  and  felt  it,  yet  did  not  know 
what  it  was.  Once  at  sunset,  when  they  were 
talking  idly  of  other  things,  he  tried  to  express 
it. 

"  I  don't  know  what  it  is,  Rose,  but  there  's 
something  about  you  lately  that  makes  me  feel 
—well,  as  though  I  were  in  a  church  at  an 
Easter  service.  The  sun  through  the  stained 
glass  window,  the  blended  fragrance  of  incense 
and  lilies,  and  the  harp  and  organ  playing  the 
Intermezzo  from  Cavalleria — ajl  that  sort  of 
thing,  don't  you  know?  " 


— an&  Xost 


"Why  should  n't  your  best  friend  be  glad," 
she  had  answered  gently,  "when  you  have 
come  to  your  own  Easter — your  rising  from  the 
dead?" 

The  dull  colour  surged  into  his  face,  then  re 
treated  in  waves.  "  If  you  can  be  as  glad  as 
that,"  he  returned,  clearing  his  throat,  "  I  'd 
be  a  brute  ever  to  let  myself  be  discouraged 
again." 

That  night,  during  a  wakeful  hour,  his 
thoughts  went  back  to  Isabel.  For  the  first 
time,  he  saw  the  affair  in  its  true  light — a  brief, 
mad  infatuation.  He  had  responded  to  Isa 
bel's  youth  and  beauty  and  an  old  moonlit 
garden  full  of  roses  much  as  his  violin  answered 
to  his  touch  upon  the  strings.  "Had  an 
swered,"  he  corrected  himself,  trying  not  to 
flinch  at  the  thought. 

Even  if  his  hand  should  heal,  it  was  scarcely 
possible  that  he  would  ever  play  again,  and  he 
knew,  as  well  as  anyone,  what  brilliant  pro 
mise  the  future  had  held  for  him.  He  remem 
bered  how  wisely  he  had  been  trained  from  the 
very  beginning;  how  Aunt  Francesca  had  in 
sisted  upon  mathematics,  Latin,  and  chemis 
try,  as  well  as  literature,  history,  and  modern 
languages. 

He  had  protested  to  her  only  once.  She  had 
replied  kindly,  but  firmly,  that  while  broad 
culture  and  liberal  education  might  not,  in  it 
self,  create  an  artist,  yet  it  could  not  possibly 


3°4 


©tt>  1Rose  an&  Stiver 


•Gbfnfefng 

Ubings 

©we 


injure  one.  Since  then,  he  had  seen  precocious 
children,  developed  in  one  line  at  the  expense 
of  all  others,  fail  ignominiously  in  maturity 
because  there  was  no  foundation.  The  Child 
Wonder  who  had  thrilled  all  Europe  at  nine, 
by  his  unnatural  mastery  of  the  violin,  was 
playing  in  an  orchestra  in  a  Paris  cafe,  where 
one  of  the  numerous  boy  sopranos  was  the  head 
waiter. 

How  disappointed  Aunt  Francesca  must  be, 
even  though  she  had  too  much  self-control 
to  show  it !  And  his  father !  Allison  swal 
lowed  a  lump  in  his  throat.  After  a  lifetime  of 
self-sacrificing  devotion,  the  Colonel  had  seen 
all  his  efforts  fail,  but  he  had  taken  the  blow 
standing,  like  the  soldier  that  he  was.  In  vain, 
many  a  time,  Allison  had  wished  that  some  of 
his  father's  fine  courage  might  have  been 
transmitted  to  him. 

And  Rose — dear  Rose  !  How  persistently 
she  held  the  new  way  open  before  him;  how 
steadily  she  insisted  that  the  creative  impulse 
was  higher  than  interpretative  skill !  How 
often  she  had  reminded  him  of  Carlyle's  stir 
ring  call:  "Produce,  produce!  Though  it  be 
but  the  merest  fraction  of  a  fragment,  produce 
it,  in  God's  name  ! "  He  had  noticed  that  the 
materials  for  composition  were  always  close  at 
hand,  though  she  never  urged  him  to  work. 

He  had  come  gradually  to  depend  upon  Rose 
— a  great  deal  more  than  he  realised.  Quite 


Xost 


305 


often  he  perceived  the  truth  of  the  saying  that 
"a  blue-ribbon  friendship  is  better  than  an 
honourable  mention  love."  It  was  evident 
that  Isabel  had  never  loved  him,  though  she 
had  been  pleased  and  flattered  by  his  love  for 
her. 

Even  at  the  time  that  Aunt  Francesca  and 
Rose  had  congratulated  him,  and  he  had  kissed 
them  both  in  friendly  fashion,  he  had  taken 
passing  note  of  the  difference  between  Isabel 
and  Rose.  Of  course  it  was  only  that  Isabel 
was  made  of  ice  and  Rose  of  flesh  and  blood, 
but  still,  it  was  pleasant  to  remember  that 

His  thoughts  began  to  stray  into  other  fields. 
Rose  was  his  promised  wife,  as  far  as  name 
went,  yet  she  treated  him  with  the  frank  good 
comradeship  that  a  liberal  social  code  makes 
possible  between  men  and  women.  As  far 
as  Rose  was  concerned,  there  was  no  sentiment 
in  the  world. 

When  she  read  to  him,  it  was  invariably  a 
story  of  adventure  or  of  humorous  complica 
tions,  or  a  well-chosen  exposition  of  some  , 
recent  advance  in  science  or  art.  Their  conver 
sation  was  equally  impersonal,  even  at  the 
rare  times  they  chanced  to  be  alone.  Rose 
made  Colonel  Kent,  Aunt  Francesca,  Doctor 
Jack,  and  even  the  nurse  equally  welcome  to 
Allison's  society. 

He  went  freely  from  room  to  room  on  the 
upper  floor,  but  had  not  yet  been  downstairs, 


H  Blue* 

•Ribbon 

jfrienosbip 


306 


®U>  1R05C  ant>  Silver 


TKttboIes 
f>eartc6 
JDcvotion 


as  a  possible  slip  on  the  steps  might  do  irre 
parable  injury.  Doctor  Jack  wanted  to  get 
him  downstairs  and  outdoors,  believing  that 
actual  contact  with  the  earth  is  almost  as  good 
for  people  as  it  is  for  plants,  but  saw  no  way 
to  manage  it  without  a  stretcher,  which  he 
knew  Allison  would  violently  resent. 

The  twins  came  occasionally,  by  special 
invitation,  though  nobody  noticed  that  it  was 
always  Doctor  Jack  who  suggested  it.  Once 
they  brought  a  pan  of  Juliet's  famous  fudges, 
which  were  politely  appreciated  by  the  others 
and  extravagantly  praised  by  the  Doctor. 
The  following  day  he  was  rewarded  by  a 
private  pan  of  especially  rich  fudges — but 
Romeo  brought  it,  on  his  way  to  the  post- 
office. 

There  was  a  daily  card-party  upon  the  upper 
veranda,  and  sometimes  meals  were  served 
there.  The  piano  had  been  moved  upstairs 
into  a  back  room.  The  whole-hearted  devo 
tion  of  the  household  was  beautiful  to  behold, 
yet  underneath  it  all,  like  an  unseen  current,, 
was  the  tense  strain  of  waiting. 

It  was  difficult  not  to  annoy  Doctor  Jack 
with  questions.  Rose  and  the  Colonel  con 
tinually  reminded  themselves  and  each  other 
that  he  would  be  only  too  glad  to  bring  encour 
agement  at  the  moment  he  found  it,  and  that 
by  quiet  and  patience  they  could  help  him 
most. 


anfc  Xost 


3°7 


Juliet  had  pleaded  earnestly  with  Doctor 
Jack  to  save  Allison's  hand.  "If  you  don't," 
she  said,  with  uplifted  eyes,  "  I  '11  be  miserable 
all  the  rest  of  my  life." 

"Bless  your  little  heart,"  the  Doctor  had 
answered,  kindly;  "I'd  do  'most  anything 
to  keep  you  from  being  miserable,  even  the 
impossible,  which  happens  to  be  my  specialty." 

She  did  not  quite  understand,  but  sent  a 
burnt  offering  to  the  Doctor,  in  the  shape  of  a 
chocolate  cake.  He  had  returned  the  com 
pliment  by  sending  her  the  biggest  box  of 
candy  she  had  ever  seen,  and,  as  it  arrived 
about  noon,  she  and  Romeo  had  feasted  upon 
it  until  they  could  eat  no  more,  and  had  been 
uncomfortably  ill  for  two  days.  Romeo  had 
attributed  their  misfortune  to  the  candy  itself, 
but  Juliet  believed  that  their  constitutions 
had  been  weakened  by  their  penitential  fare, 
and,  as  soon  as  she  was  able,  proved  her  point 
by  finishing  the  last  sweet  morsel  without 
painful  results. 

The  Summer  waned  and  tints  of  palest  gold 
appeared  here  and  there  upon  the  maples. 
The  warm  wind  had  the  indefinable  freshness 
of  the  Autumn  sea,  blown  far  inland  at  dawn. 
Allison  became  impatient  and  restless,  the 
Colonel  went  off  alone  for  long,  moody  walks ; 
even  Doctor  Jack  began  to  show  the  effects 
of  the  long  strain. 

Only  Rose  was  serene.    Fortunately,  no  one 


flmpattent 

an& 
tRestless 


308 


©I&  1Rose  anfc  Stiver 


Calleb 


guessed  the  tumult  that  lay  beneath  her  out 
ward  calm.  Her  manner  toward  Allison  was, 
if  anything,  more  impersonal  than  ever,  though 
she  failed  in  no  thoughtful  kindness,  no  possible 
consideration.  He  accepted  it  all  as  a  matter 
of  course,  but  began  to  wish,  vaguely,  for 
something  more. 

He  forebore  to  remind  her  of  their  strange 
relation,  and  could  not  allude  to  the  night  he 
had  kissed  her,  while  his  fiancee  stood  near  by. 
Yet,  late  one  afternoon,  when  she  had  excused 
herself  a  little  earlier  than  usual,  he  called  her 
back. 

"Rose?" 

"  Yes  ?  "  She  returned  quickly  and  stood 
before  him,  just  out  of  his  reach.  "What  is 
it  ?  What  can  I  do  for  you  ?  " 

The  tone  was  kind  but  impersonal,  as 
always.  "Nothing,"  he  sighed,  turning  his 
face  away. 

That  night  she  pondered  long.  What  could 
Allison  want  that  she  had  not  given?  The 
blood  surged  into  her  heart  for  an  instant,  then 
retreated.  "Nonsense,"  she  said  to  herself  in 
tremulous  anger.  "  It 's  impossible  ! " 

Afterward  it  seemed  continually  to  happen 
that  she  was  alone  with  Allison  when  the  time 
came  to  say  good-night  and  drive  home,  or 
walk,  escorted  by  Colonel  Kent  or  the  Doctor. 
By  common  consent,  they  seemed  to  make 
excuses  to  leave  the  room  as  the  hour  of  de- 


Savefc—  ant)  3Lost 


309 


parture  approached,  and  she  always  found  it 
easier  when  someone  was  there. 

Again,  when  she  had  made  her  adieux  and 
had  reached  the  door  leading  into  the  hall, 
Allison  called  her  back. 

"Yes?" 

"Couldn't  you — just  once,  you  know — for 
good-night?  "  he  asked,  with  difficulty. 

His  face  made  his  meaning  clear.  Rose  bent, 
kissed  him  tenderly  upon  the  forehead,  and 
quickly  left  the  room.  Her  heart  was  beating 
so  hard  that  she  did  not  know  she  stumbled 
upon  the  threshold,  nor  did  she  hear  his  low: 
"Thank  you — dear." 

That  night  she  could  not  sleep.  "  I  can't," 
she  said  to  herself,  miserably;  "  I  can't  possibly 
go  on,  if —  Oh,  why  should  he  make  it  so  hard 
for  me ! " 

If  the  future  was  to  be  possible  on  the  lines 
already  laid  down,  he,  too,  must  keep  the  im 
personal  attitude.  Yet,  none  the  less,  she  was 
conscious  of  an  uplifting  joy  that  would  not  be 
put  aside,  but  insistently  demanded  its  right 
of  expression. 

She  did  not  dare  trust  herself  to  see  Allison 
again,  and  yet  she  must.  She  could  not  fail 
him  now,  when  he  needed  her  so  much,  nor 
could  she  ask  the  others  to  see  that  they  were 
not  left  alone.  One  day  might  be  gained  for 
respite  by  the  plea  of  a  headache,  which  is 
woman's  friend  as  often  as  it  is  her  enemy. 


Bn  llp» 
lifting  303 


IRose  anfc  Silver 


And,  after  that  one  day,  what  then?  What 
other  excuse  could  she  make  that  would  not 
seem  heartless  and  cold  ? 

It  was  an  old  saying  of  Aunt  Francesca's 
that  "when  you  can't  see  straight  ahead,  it 's 
because  you  're  about  to  turn  a  corner." 
She  tormented  herself  throughout  the  night 
with  futile  speculations  that  led  to  nothing 
except  the  headache  which  she  had  planned  to 
offer  as  an  excuse. 

A  brief  note  gave  her  the  day  to  herself,  and 
also  brought  flowers  from  Allison,  with  a 
friendly  note  in  his  own  hand.  Doctor  Jack 
was  the  messenger  and  took  occasion  to  offer 
his  services  in  the  conquest  of  the  headache, 
but  Rose  declined  with  thanks,  sending  down 
word  that  she  preferred  to  sleep  it  off. 

Though  breakfast  might  be  a  movable 
feast  at  Madame's,  it  was  always  consistently 
late.  It  was  nearly  nine  o'clock  in  the  morn 
ing  when  the  telephone  wakened  Madame  from 
a  dreamless  sleep.  She  listened  until  it  became 
annoying,  but  no  one  answered  it.  Finally 
she  got  up,  rather  impatiently,  and  went  to  it 
herself,  anticipating  Rose  by  only  a  minute. 

Tremulous  with  suspense,  Rose  waited, 
scarcely  daring  to  breathe  until  Madame 
turned  with  a  cry  of  joy,  the  receiver  falling 
from  her  nerveless  hand.  "Rose !  Rose ! 
he  's  saved  !  Our  boy  is  saved  !  He  's  saved, 
do  you  understand  ?  " 


5avet>— ant)  Xost 


311 


"Truly?    Is  it  sure?" 

"  Blessedly  sure  !    Oh,  Rose,  he 's  saved  !  " 

The  little  old  lady  was  sobbing  in  an  ecstasy 
of  relief. 

Rose  led  her  to  a  couch  and  waited  quietly 
until  she  was  almost  calm,  then  went  back  to 
her  own  room.  Once  more  her  world  was 
changed,  as  long  ago  she  had  seen  how  it  must 
be  with  her  should  the  one  thing  happen.  She, 
with  the  others,  had  hoped  and  prayed  for  it; 
her  dearest  dream  had  come  true  at  last,  and 
left  her  desolate. 

She  was  unselfishly  glad  for  Allison,  for  the 
Colonel,  Aunt  Francesca,  Doctor  Jack,  the 
sorrowing  twins,  and,  in  a  way,  for  herself. 
It  had  been  given  her  to  serve  him,  and  she  had 
not  hoped  for  more.  It  made  things  easier 
now,  though  she  had  not  thought  the  corner 
would  be  turned  in  just  this  way. 

Having  made  up  her  mind  and  completed 
her  plans,  she  went  to  Madame  as  soon  as  she 
was  dressed.  She  had  hidden  her  paleness  with 
so  little  rouge  that  even  Madame's  keen  eyes 
could  not  suspect  it. 

"Aunt  Francesca,"  she  began,  without  pre 
liminary,  "  I  've  got  to  go  away." 

"  Why,  dear,  and  where  ?     For  how  long  ?  " 

"Because  I  'm  so  tired.  Things  have  been 
hard  for  me — over  there,  lately — and  I  don't 
care  where  I  go." 

"  I  see,"  returned  Madame,  tenderly.     "  You 


312 


®R>  IRose  anfc  Silver 


Oofng 
Bwa* 


want  to  go  away  for  a  rest.  You  've  needed  it 
for  a  long  time/' 

"Yes,"  Rose  nodded,  swinging  easily  into 
the  lie  that  did  not  deceive  either.  "  Oh,  Aunt 
Francesca,  can  I  go  to-day  ?  " 

"Surely — at  any  hour  you  choose." 

"And  you  '11— make  it  right?  " 

"Indeed  I  will.  I  '11  just  say  that  you  've 
been  obliged  to  go  away  on  business — to  look 
after  some  investments  for  both  of  us,  and 
I  hope  you  '11  stay  away  long  enough  to  get 
the  rest  and  change  you  've  needed  for  almost 
a  year." 

"Oh,  Aunt  Francesca,  how  good  you  are ! 
But  where  ?  Where  shall  I  go  ?  " 

Madame  had  been  thinking  of  that.  She 
knew  the  one  place  where  Rose  could  go, 
and  attain  her  balance  in  solitude,  untroubled 
by  needless  questions  or  explanations.  With 
the  feeling  of  the  mother  who  gives  her  dead 
baby's  dainty  garments  to  a  living  child  sorely 
in  need,  she  spoke. 

"To  my  house  up  in  the  woods — the  little 
house  where  love  lived,  so  long  ago." 

Rose's  pale  lips  quivered  for  an  instant. 
"What  have  I  to  do  with  love?  " 

"Go  to  the  house  where  he  lived  once,  and 
perhaps  you  may  find  out." 

"  I  will— I  '11  be  glad  to  go.  If  I  could  make 
the  next  train,  could  you  arrange  to  have  a 
trunk  follow  me?  " 


— ant) 


313 


"Of  course.  Go  on,  dear.  I  know  how  it 
happens  sometimes,  that  one  can't  stay  in  one 
place  any  longer.  I  suffered  from  wanderlust 
until  I  was  almost  seventy,  and  it 's  a  long  time 
since  you  've  been  away." 

"And  you  '11  promise  not  to  tell  anybody?  " 

"  I  promise." 

While  Rose  was  packing  a  suit-case,  Madame 
brought  her  a  rusty,  old-fashioned  key,  and  a 
card  on  which  she  had  written  directions  for 
the  journey.  "  I  've  ordered  the  carriage/'  she 
said,  "and  I  '11  drive  down  with  you  to  see  you 
safely  off." 

After  the  packing  was  completed  and  while 
there  was  still  nearly  an  hour  to  wait  before 
the  carriage  would  come,  Rose  locked  her  door, 
and,  after  many  failures,  achieved  her  note: 

"Mv  DEAR  ALLISON: 

"  You  don't  know  how  glad  I  am  for  you  and 
how  glad  I  shall  be  all  the  rest  of  my  life. 
I  've  hoped  and  dreamed  and  prayed  from  the 
very  beginning  that  it  might  be  so,  and  I  be 
lieve  that,  in  time,  you  '11  have  back  every 
thing  you  have  lost. 

"Now  that  you  no  longer  need  me,  I  am 
going  away  to  attend  to  some  necessary  busi 
ness  for  Aunt  Francesca  and  myself,  and  per 
haps  to  rest  a  little  while  in  some  new  place 
before  I  go  back  to  my  work. 

"Of  course  our  make-believe  engagement 


well  IRotc 


314  ®K>  TCo0e  ant)  Silver 


closing  expiies  automatically  now,  and  I  hope  you  '11 
soon  find  the  one  woman  meant  to  make  you 
happy.  I  am  glad  to  think  that  I  've  helped 
you  a  little  when  you  came  to  a  hard  place,  for 
the  most  that  any  one  of  us  may  do  for  another 
is  to  smooth  the  road. 

"  Remember  me  to  the  others,  say  good-bye 
for  me,  and  believe  me,  with  all  good  wishes, 
"  Your  friend  always, 

"ROSE." 

When  she  sealed  and  addressed  it,  she  had  a 
queer  sense  of  closing  the  door,  with  her  own 
hands,  upon  all  the  joy  Life  might  have  in  store 
for  her  in  years  to  come.  Yet  the  past  few 
weeks  were  secure,  beyond  the  power  of  change 
or  loss,  and  her  pride  was  saved. 

No  one  could  keep  her  from  loving  him,  and 
the  thought  brought  a  certain  comfort  to  her 
sore  heart.  Wherever  he  might  be  and  what 
ever  might  happen  to  him,,  she  could  still  love 
him  from  afar,  and  have,  for  her  very  own,  the 
woman's  joy  of  utmost  giving. 

When  the  carriage  came,  she  went  down,  and, 
without  a  word  put  her  note  into  Aunt  Fran- 
cesca's  faithful  hands.  Isabel  had  not  ap 
peared,  fortunately,  and  it  was  not  necessary 
to  leave  any  message — Aunt  Francesca  would 
make  it  right,  as  she  always  had  with  every 
body. 

When  the  little  old  lady  lifted  her  face,  say- 


—  ant)  OLost  315 


ing:  "Good-bye,  dear,  come  back  to  me  soon/'      off  an& 
Rose's  heart  misgave  her.      "  I  '11  stay/'  she 
said,  brokenly;  "  I  won't  leave  you." 

But  Madame  only  smiled,  and  nodded  toward 
the  waiting  train.  She  stood  on  the  platform, 
waving  her  little  lace-bordered  handkerchief, 
until  the  last  car  rounded  the  curve  and  the 
fluttering  bit  of  white  that  was  waved  in 
answer  had  vanished. 

Then  Madame  sighed,  wiped  her  eyes,  and 
drove  home. 


•not 

Delplcss 


XXII 

a 


ALLISON  received  the  note  from  Rose  at 
the  time  he  was  expecting  Rose  herself, 
and  was  keenly  disappointed.     "  She  might  at 
least  have  stopped  long  enough  to  say  good 
bye,"  he  said  to  his  father. 

"Don't  be  selfish,  lad,"  laughed  the  Colonel. 
"We  owe  her  now  a  debt  that  we  can  never 
hope  to  pay." 

The  young  man's  face  softened.  "What  a 
brick  she  has  been  !  "  Then,  to  himself,  he 
added:  "if  she  had  loved  me,  she  couldn't 
have  done  more." 

Life  seemed  very  good  to  them  both  that 
crisp  September  morning.  Just  after  break 
fast  Doctor  Jack  had  announced,  definitely, 
that  the  crushed  hand  was  saved,  unless  there 
should  be  some  unlooked-for  complication 
"  But  mind  you,"  he  insisted,  "  I  don't  promise 
any  violin-playing,  and  there  '11  be  scars,  but 
we  '11  make  it  look  as  well  as  we  can.  Any 
how,  you  '11  not  be  helpless." 


H 


317 


Allison  smiled  happily.  "Why  can't  I  play, 
if  it  heals  up  all  right  ?  " 

"There  may  be  a  nerve  or  two  that  won't 
work  just  right,  or  a  twisted  muscle,  or  some 
thing.  However  we  '11  keep  hoping." 

The  heavy  weight  that  had  lain  so  long  upon 
Allison's  heart  was  slow  in  lifting.  At  first 
he  could  not  believe  the  good  news,  greatly  to 
Doctor  Jack's  disgust. 

"You  don't  seem  to  care  much,"  he  re 
marked.  "  I  supposed  you  'd  turn  at  least  one 
somersault.  The  Colonel  is  more  pleased  than 
you  are." 

"Dear  old  dad,"  said  Allison,  gratefully. 
"  I  owe  him  everything." 

"Everything?"  repeated  the  Doctor,  with 
lifted  brows.  "And  where  does  Jonathan 
Ebenezer  Middlekauffer  come  in,  to  say  no 
thing  of  the  future  Mrs.  Kent?  " 

Allison's  face  clouded  for  an  instant.  "  I  '11 
never  forget  what  you  've  done  for  me,  but 
there  is  n't  any  future  Mrs.  Kent." 

"No?    Why  I  thought " 

"So  did  I,  but  she's  thrown  me  over  and 
gone  away.  This  morning  she  sent  me  a  note 
of  congratulation  and  farewell." 

"  Upon  my  word  !  What  have  you  done  to 
her?" 

"Nothing.  She  says  I  don't  need  her  any 
more  now.  so  she  's  going  away." 

Doctor  Jack  paced  back  and  forth  on  the 


HIlf?on 
tftecefvee 
tbe  TOews 


TRose  anb  Stiver 


JSrace  Illp 


veranda  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets.  "The 
darkly  mysterious  ways  of  the  ever-feminine 
are  wonderful  beyond  the  power  of  words  to 
portray.  Apparently  you  've  had  to  choose 
between  your  hand  and  hers." 

"  I  'm  not  sure,"  returned  Allison,  thought 
fully,  "that  I  would  n't  rather  have  hers  than 
mine." 

"  Brace  up,  old  man.  Get  well  and  go  after 
her.  The  world  is  n't  big  enough  to  keep  a  man 
away  from  the  woman  he  wants." 

"But,"  answered  Allison,  dejectedly,  "she 
does  n't  care  for  me.  It  was  only  womanly 
pity,  and  now  that  I  don't  need  that,  I  've 
lost  her." 

"  She  does  n't  care  for  you  ! "  repeated  the 
Doctor.  "Why,  man,  how  can  you  sit  there 
and  tell  a  lie  like  that  ?  Of  course  she  cares  !  " 

Allison  turned  to  look  at  him  in  astonish 
ment.  "  It  is  n't  possible  ! " 

"Isn't  it?  Then  I  don't  know  anything 
about  human  nature,  though  I  must  confess 
I  'm  not  up  much  on  the  feminine  part  of  it. 
How  long " 

"Just  since  the  accident.  The  girl  I  was 
going  to  marry  let  me  release  her.  She  did  n't 
want  a  cripple,  you  know." 

"And  Miss  Bernard  did,  and  you  Ve  disap 
pointed  her?" 

"Something  like  that." 

"  You  seem  to  have  had  fierce  luck  with  girls. 


H 


One  gives  you  up  because  you  've  only  got  one 
hand,  and  the  other  because  you  've  got  two. 
There 's  no  pleasing  women.  Hello — here  comes 
another  note.  Maybe  she  's  changed  her  mind." 

For  a  breathless  instant  Allison  thought  so, 
too,  but  Doctor  Jack  was  opening  it.  "  Mine," 
he  said.  "It 's  an  invitation  to  Crosby's.  It 
seems  that  they  come  of  age  day  after  to 
morrow,  and  I  'm  invited  out  to  supper  to 
help  celebrate.  I  won't  go,  or  any  thing,  will  I  ? 
Oh,  no,  of  course  not !  I  have  n't  seen  'em  for 
a  week.  Are  presents  expected  ?  " 

"Your  presence  seems  to  be  expected,"  re 
marked  Allison. 

"  I  'm  glad  you  've  got  that  out  of  your  sys 
tem,"  the  Doctor  retorted,  with  a  scornful 
smile.  "You  ought  to  improve  right  along 
now." 

"Is  it  a  party?" 

"They  don't  say  so.     I  hope  it  is  n't." 

However,  when  Doctor  Jack  strolled  up  the 
dusty  road,  a  carriage  that  must  have  come 
from  Crosby's  passed  him.  He  stopped  short, 
wildly  considering  an  impulse  of  flight.  Then 
he  went  on  bravely,  smiling  at  the  thought 
that  any  entertainment  given  by  the  twins 
could  be  by  any  possibility,  a  formal  affair. 

The  other  guest  was  Isabel,  whom  Doctor 
Jack  had  not  met  and  of  whom  he  knew  no 
thing.  She  observed  him  narrowly  when  oppor 
tunity  offered,  for  she  knew  who  he  was,  and 


Hn 
Invitation 


320 


©l&  IRose  an&  Silver 


Ube  3Bcat 
Eirtb&as 
present 


wondered  what  he  had  heard  of  her.  Soon  she 
became  certain  that  her  name  carried  no  mean 
ing  to  him,  for  he  talked  freely  of  Allison  and 
the  Colonel  and  frankly  shared  the  joy  of  the 
twins  at  the  welcome  news. 

"Oh/'  cried  Juliet,  clapping  her  hands  in 
glee.  "  It 's  the  very  best  birthday  present  we 
could  have,  is  n't  it,  Romie?  " 

"I  should  say,"  replied  that  young  man, 
with  an  expansive  smile.  "  Say,"  he  added  to 
Doctor  Jack,  "you  must  be  a  brick." 

"  I  've  only  done  my  best,"  he  responded, 
modestly. 

Isabel  could  say  nothing  for  some  little  time. 
She  was  furiously  angry  with  Aunt  Francesca 
because  she  had  not  told  her.  The  day  that 
Rose  went  away,  everyone  in  the  house  had 
been  very  glad  about  something,  even  to  the 
servants,  but  she  had  asked  no  questions 
and  received  no  information,  except  that  Rose 
had  been  obliged  to  go  away  very  suddenly 
upon  business  of  immediate  importance. 

"You  must  be  awful  glad,"  said  Juliet,  to 
Isabel. 

"Of  course,"  answered  Isabel,  coldly,  clear 
ing  her  throat. 

"He  must  feel  pretty  good,"  Romeo  ob 
served. 

"Yes,"  returned  Doctor  Jack,  "except  that 
he  's  lost  his  girl." 

Isabel    flushed    and    nervously   turned   on 


H 


321 


her  finger  the  diamond  ring  that  she  still 
wore. 

"  He  's  had  fierce  luck  with  girls,"  resumed 
the  Doctor,  unthinkingly.  "One  passed  him 
up  because  he  was  hurt,  and  the  other  because 
he  was  going  to  get  well." 

The  tense  silence  that  ensued  indicated  that 
he  had  made  a  mistake  of  some  sort.  It  had 
not  occurred  to  him  that  the  twins  did  not 
know  of  Allison's  engagement  to  Rose,  nor  did 
he  suspect  Isabel's  identity. 

Juliet  was  staring  at  Isabel  in  pained  sur 
prise.  "Did  you?  "  she  asked,  slowly,  "throw 
him  over  because  he  got  hurt  ?  " 

"He  offered  to  release  me/'  said  Isabel,  in  a 
small,  cold  voice,  "and  I  accepted.  I  did  not 
know  until  just  now  that  Cousin  Rose  had 
taken  my  leavings."  The  older  woman's 
mysterious  departure  presented  itself  to  her 
now  in  a  new  light. 

"Suffering  Cyrus,"  said  Doctor  Jack,  aloud, 
"but  I  have  put  my  foot  into  it.  Look 
here,  kind  friends,  I  never  was  meant  for  a  par 
lour,  and  I  always  make  mistakes  when  I  stray 
into  one.  My  place  is  in  a  hospital  ward  or  at 
the  bedside  of  those  who  have  been  given  up  to 
die.  The  complex  social  arena  is  not  where  I 
shine  to  my  best  advantage.  There  are  too 
many  rings  to  keep  track  of  at  once,  and  my 
mind  gets  cross-eyed." 

"Come    on    up    to    the    attic,"    suggested 


S)octor 
3acfc  puts 
fcis  jfoot 

<nto  Ur 


322 


B  TK&ort  of 
TOarning 


IRose  an&  Stiver 


Juliet,  with  a  swift  change  of  subject,  "and 
we  '11  do  stunts  on  the  trapeze." 

Isabel  and  Doctor  Jack  sat  side  by  side  on  a 
battered  old  trunk  in  stony  silence  while  the 
twins  were  donning  their  gymnasium  costumes. 
Fortunately,  it  did  not  take  long  and  the 
sight  of  Juliet  hanging  by  her  feet  furnished 
the  needed  topic  of  conversation.  The  lithe  lit 
tle  body  seemed  to  be  made  of  steel  fibres.  She 
swayed  back  and  forth,  catching  Romeo  as  he 
made  a  flying  leap  from  the  other  trapeze,  as 
easily  as  another  girl  would  have  wielded  a 
tennis  racquet. 

At  length  Doctor  Jack  interposed  a  friendly 
word  of  warning.  "Look  here,  kid/'  he  said, 
"you  're  made  of  flesh  and  blood,  you  know, 
just  like  the  rest  of  us.  Better  cut  out  that 
trapeze  business." 

"I  don't  know  why,"  returned  Juliet,  re 
sentfully,  as  she  slipped  gracefully  to  the  floor, 
right  side  up.  "  I  'm  as  strong  as  Romie  is,  or 
almost  as  strong." 

"Girls  do  it  in  the  circus,"  Romeo  observed, 
wiping  his  flushed  face. 

"  Ever  heard  of  any  of  'em  living  to  celebrate 
their  hundredth  birthday?"  queried  Doctor 
Jack,  significantly. 

The  twins  admitted  that  they  had  not.  "  I 
don't  care,"  cried  Juliet,  "  I  'd  rather  live  ten 
years  and  keep  « going,  than  live  to  be  a 
hundred  and  have  to  sit  still  all  the  time." 


H  Birtbfcas  parts 


323 


"No  danger  of  your  sitting  still  too  long/' 
returned  Doctor  Jack,  good-humouredly. 
"It 's  hot  up  here,  is  n't  it?  " 

"Rather  warm/'  Romeo  agreed.  "You 
folks  can  go  downstairs  until  we  get  on  our 
other  clothes,  if  you  like/' 

They  had  reached  the  head  of  the  stairs  when 
Isabel  changed  her  mind.  "  I  believe  I  '11 
wait  for  Juliet/'  she  said,  turning  back. 

So  the  Doctor  went  down  alone,  inwardly 
reviling  himself  for  his  unlucky  speech,  and 
glad  of  an  opportunity  to  contemplate  the 
characteristic  residence  of  the  twins. 

The  whole  house  was,  frankly,  a  place  where 
people  did  as  they  chose,  and  the  furniture 
bore  marks  of  having  been  used  not  wisely, 
but  too  well.  Everything  was  clean,  though 
not  aggressively  so.  He  ascribed  the  absence 
of  lace  curtains  to  Romeo  and  the  Cloisonne* 
vase  to  Juliet.  The  fishing  rods  in  one  corner 
were  probably  due  to  both. 

When  the  others  came  down,  Juliet  tied  a 
big  blue  gingham  apron  over  her  white  muslin 
gown  and  excused  herself.  She  had  been 
cooking  for  the  better  part  of  two  days  and 
took  a  housewifely  pride  in  doing  everything 
herself.  They  had  chosen  the  things  they 
liked  the  most,  so  the  dinner  was  unusual,  as 
dinners  go. 

Isabel,  eating  daintily,  made  no  effort  to 
conceal  her  disdain,  but  Doctor  Jack  ate 


Bn 

Unusual 
Dinner 


3*4 


IRose  ant>  Silver 


•ffaabcl  anl> 
Sulfet 


heartily,  praised  everything,  and  brought  the 
blush  of  pleasure  to  Juliet's  rosy  cheeks. 

Romeo,  at  the  head  of  the  table,  radiated  the 
hospitality  of  the  true  host,  yet  a  close  observer 
would  have  noted  how  often  he  cast  admiring 
glances  at  Isabel.  She  was  so  dainty,  so 
beautifully  gowned  and  elaborately  coiffured, 
that  Romeo  compared  her  with  his  sister 
greatly  to  the  disadvantage  of  the  latter. 

Juliet's  hair  was  unruly  and  broke  into  curls 
all  around  her  face;  Isabel's  was  in  perfect 
order,  with  every  wave  mathematically  exact. 
Juliet's  face  was  tanned  and  rosy;  Isabel's 
pale  and  cool.  Juliet's  hands  were  rough  and 
her  finger-tips  square;  Isabel's  were  white  and 
tapering,  with  perfectly  manicured  nails. 
And  their  gowns — there  was  no  possible  com 
parison  there.  Both  were  in  white,  but  Romeo 
discovered  that  there  might  be  a  vast  differ 
ence  in  white  gowns. 

Afterward,  the  guests  were  taken  out  into  the 
yard,  and  led  to  the  comprehensive  grave  of 
the  nineteen  dogs.  Minerva  kept  at  a  safe 
distance,  but  the  five  puppies  gambolled  and 
frolicked,  even  to  the  verge  of  the  sepulchre. 
Romeo  desired  to  send  a  dog  to  Allison,  and 
generously  offered  Isabel  her  choice,  but  she 
refused. 

"I  '11  take  the  pup,"  said  the  Doctor.  "It 
might  amuse  him,  and  anyhow,  he  'd  like  to 
know  that  you  thought  of  him." 


H 


325 


Isabel  had  strolled  down  toward  the  barn. 
Juliet  hesitated,  duty  bidding  her  follow  Isabel 
and  inclination  holding  her  back.  Presently 
Isabel  returned,  and  her  face  was  surprisingly 
animated. 

"Is  that  our  car  in  the  barn?"  she  asked. 
Her  manner  betrayed  great  excitement. 

"Why,  it's  Allison  Kent's  car,  isn't  it?" 
inquired  Romeo. 

"I  thought  it  was  mine.  Colonel  Kent 
gave  it  to  me  for  a  wedding  present." 

"  I  thought  you  could  n't  keep  the  wedding 
presents  unless  the  wedding  came  off,"  Juliet 
observed,  practically. 

"  I  've  still  got  my  ring,"  said  Isabel.  "Alli 
son  said  he  wanted  me  to  keep  it,  and  he  gave 
me  his  violin,  too.  I  should  think  they  'd 
want  me  to  keep  the  car." 

"  Better  make  sure,"  suggested  Doctor  Jack, 
politely. 

"People  don't  scatter  automobiles  around 
carelessly  among  their  friends,  as  a  general 
rule,"  observed  Juliet. 

"  I  wish  I  could  get  it  up  to  Kent's,"  Romeo 
said,  thoughtfully.  "It  always  reminds  me — 
here." 

"  I  'd  just  as  soon  drive  it  back,"  the  Doctor 
answered.  "  It 's  more  of  a  trot  out  here  than 
I  supposed  it  was." 

"Why,  yes,"  cried  Juliet.  "You  can  drive 
it  back  to-night  and  take  Isabel  home  ! " 


TiClboee  Us 
Ht? 


326 


©It)  IRose  anfc  Silver 


for  Buto 


"Charmed,"  lied  the  Doctor,  with  an  awk- 

.  , 

ward  bow. 

So  it  happened  that  Isabel  once  more 
climbed  into  the  red  car  and  went  back  over 
the  fateful  road.  The  machine  ran  well, 
but  it  seemed  to  require  the  driver's  entire 
attention,  for  his  conversation  consisted  of 
brief  remarks  to  which  answers  even  more  brief 
were  vouchsafed. 

When  he  turned,  on  the  wide  road  in  front 
of  Madame  Bernard's,  after  leaving  Isabel  at 
the  gate,  she  lingered  in  the  shadow,  watching, 
until  he  was  out  of  sight.  The  throb  of  the 
engine  became  fainter  and  fainter,  then  died 
away  altogether.  Isabel  sighed  and  went  in, 
wondering  if  Allison,  after  giving  her  the  ring 
and  the  violin,  would  not  also  want  her  to  have 
the  car.  Or,  if  that  seemed  too  much,  and  she 
should  send  back  the  violin  —  she  pondered 
over  it  until  almost  dawn,  then  went  to  sleep. 

The  following  afternoon,  while  Madame  Ber 
nard  slept,  Isabel  sat  idly  in  the  living-room, 
looking  out  of  the  window,  though,  as  she  told 
herself  fretfully,  there  was  not  much  use  of 
looking  out  of  the  window  when  nobody  ever 
went  by.  But  no  sooner  had  she  phrased  the 
thought  than  she  heard  the  faint  chug-chug  of 
an  approaching  motor. 

She  moved  back,  into  the  shelter  of  the  cur 
tain,  and  presently  saw  the  big  red  automobile 


H  Birtbfcas  parts 


327 


whizz  by.  Doctor  Jack,  hatless  and  laughing, 
was  at  the  wheel.  Beside  him  was  Colonel 
Kent. 

Had  they  gone  out  and  left  Allison  alone? 
Surely,  since  there  was  no  one  else.  Fortune 
favoured  her  if  she  wished  to  see  him.  But 
did  she  dare? 

Isabel  was  nothing  if  not  courageous. 
Arming  herself  with  an  excuse  in  the  shape 
of  the  violin,  she  sallied  forth  and  made  her 
way  to  Kent's,  meeting  no  one  upon  the  well- 
worn  path. 

As  it  happened,  Allison  was  on  the  lower 
veranda,  walking  back  and  forth,  persistently 
accompanied  by  the  Crosby  pup.  Assisted 
by  the  Colonel  and  Doctor  Jack,  he  had  come 
down  without  accident,  and  had  promised  to 
go  out  in  the  car  with  them  a  little  later. 

When  he  saw  Isabel  coming  up  the  walk,  he 
stopped  in  astonishment.  He  did  not  go  to 
meet  her,  but  offered  her  a  chair  and  said, 
with  formal  politeness:  "How  do  you  do? 
This  is  an  unexpected  pleasure." 

"  I  brought  this,"  began  Isabel,  offering  him 
the  violin. 

He  took  it  with  a  smile.  "Thank  you.  I 
don't  know  that  I  shall  ever  use  it  again,  but 
I  am  glad  to  have  it." 

There  was  a  pause  and  Isabel  moved  rest 
lessly  in  her  chair.  Then  she  slipped  the  ring 
from  her  finger.  "Do  you  want  this  now?" 


Denture 


328 


IRose  an&  Stiver 


she    asked.     Her    face   was    a    shade    paler. 

Allison  laughed.  "Indeed  I  don't.  Whom 
could  I  give  it  to?" 

"Rose,"  suggested  Isabel,  maliciously. 

Allison  sighed  and  turned  his  face  away. 
"She  would  n't  take  it,"  he  said,  sadly. 

Isabel  slipped  it  back  on  her  finger,  evi 
dently  relieved.  "  I  'm  glad  you  're  better," 
she  went  on,  clearing  her  throat. 

"Thank  you.    So  am  I." 

"I  saw  your  father,  out  in  the  car.  The 
Doctor  was  with  him." 

"  Yes.  They  're  coming  back  for  me  in  a 
little  while."  ' 

"  It 's  a  lovely  car.  The  Doctor  brought  me 
home  in  it  last  night,  from  Crosby's." 

"So  he  told  me."  Allison  did  not  see  fit  to 
say  just  how  much  Doctor  Jack  had  told  him. 
He  smiled  a  little  at  the  recollection  of  the 
young  man's  remorseful  confession. 

"I  told  them,"  continued  Isabel,  "that  I 
thought  it  was  mine — that  your  father  had 
given  it  to  me,  but  it  seems  I  was  mistaken." 

"It  seems  so,"  Allison  agreed.  "Dad  gave 
it  to  the  Doctor  this  morning." 

Isabel  repressed  a  bitter  cry  of  astonishment. 
"For  keeps?" 

"Yes,  for  keeps.  It 's  little  enough  to  give 
him  after  all  he 's  done  for  me.  We  both 
wanted  him  to  have  it." 

"You  could  get  another,  could  n't  you?  " 


H 


"I  suppose  so,  if  I  wanted  it.  People  can 
usually  get  things  they  want,  if  they  are 
intangible." 

"I  wanted  to  tell  you,"  resumed  Isabel, 
"  that  I  was  sorry  I  acted  the  way  I  did  the  last 
time  1  was  here." 

"Don't  think  of  it,"  replied  Allison,  kindly. 
"  It  was  very  natural." 

"It  was  all  a  great  shock  to  me,  and  I  was 
lame,  and — and — I  wish  everything  could  be 
as  it  was  before,"  she  concluded,  with  a  faint 
flush  creeping  into  her  face. 

"That  is  the  great  tragedy  of  life,  Isabel — 
that  things  can  never  be  as  they  were  before. 
Sometimes  they  're  worse,  sometimes  better, 
but  the  world  is  never  the  same." 

"Of  course,"  she  answered,  without  grasping 
his  meaning,  "  but  you  're  going  to  be  all  right 
again  now,  and — that 's  the  same." 

Allison  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  bit  his 
lips  to  conceal  a  smile.  "  It  may  be  the  same 
for  me,  but  it  could  n't  be  for  you.  I 
could  n't  give  you  any  guarantee  that  it 
would  n't  happen  again,  you  know.  I  might 
be  run  over  by  a  railroad  train  or  a  trolley  car, 
or  any  one  of  a  thousand  things  might  happen 
to  me.  There 's  always  a  risk." 

Tears  filled  Isabel's  eyes.  "I  don't  believe 
you  ever  cared  very  much  for  me,"  she  said, 
her  lips  quivering. 

"I  did,  Isabel,"  he  answered,  kindly,  "but 


•Never  tbe 
Same 


330 


IRose  anO  Silver 


Silver  ®frl 


it 's  gone  now.  Even  at  that,  it  lasted  longer 
than  you  cared  for  me.  Come,  let 's  be 
friends." 

He  offered  his  hand.  She  put  hers  into  it 
for  a  moment,  then  quickly  took  it  away.  He 
noted  that  it  was  very  cold. 

"I  must  be  going,"  she  said,  keeping  her 
self-control  with  difficulty.  "Aunt  Francesca 
will  miss  me." 

"Thank  you  for  coming — and  for  bringing 
the  violin." 

"  You  're  welcome.     Good-bye." 

"Good-bye,  Silver  Girl.  I  hope  you'll  be 
happy." 

Isabel  did  not  answer,  nor  turn  back.  She 
went  out  of  the  gate  and  out  of  his  life,  pride 
keeping  her  head  high  until  she  had  turned  the 
corner.  Then,  very  sorry  for  herself,  she  sat 
down  and  wept. 


XXIII 

"Gears,  fl&le  Gears'" 

"  O  AY,   Jule,"    inquired    Romeo,    casually, 

O  "why  is  it  that  you  don't  look  like  a 
lady?" 

"What  do  you  mean?"  demanded  Juliet, 
bristling. 

"  I  don't  know  just  what  I  mean,  but  you 
seem  so  different  from  everybody  else." 

"  I  'm  clean,  ain't  I  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  admitted,  grudgingly. 

"And  my  hair  is  combed  ?  " 

"Sometimes." 

"And  my  white  dress  is  clean,  is  n't  it?  " 

"  Yes,  but  it  does  n't  look  like — like  hers,  you 
know." 

"Her?    Who's 'her'?" 

"You  know— Isabel." 

Juliet  sighed  and  bit  her  lips.  Her  eyes 
filled  with  tears  and  she  winked  very  hard  to 
keep  them  back.  An  ominous  pain  clutched 
at  her  loyal  little  heart. 


332 


IRose  ant>  Stiver 


Juliet's 

feelings 

fturt 


"What  do  you  want  me  to  do,  Romie?" 
she  asked,  gently. 

"Why,  I  don't  know.  Men  never  know 
about  such  things.  Just  make  yourself  like 
her— that 's  all." 

"Huh!"  Juliet  was  scornful  now.  "I 
don't  know  whether  I  want  to  look  like  her  or 
not,"  she  remarked,  coldly. 

"Why  not?  "  he  flashed  back. 

"And  I  don't  want  to  be  like  her,  either. 
She  can't  do  anything.  She  can't  cook, 
or  swing  on  the  trapeze,  or  skate,  or  fish,  or  row, 
or  swim,  or  climb  a  tree,  or  ride  horseback,  or 
walk,  or  anything." 

"I  could  teach  ner,"  mused  Romeo,  half 
to  himself.  "  I  taught  you." 

"Yes,"  cried  Juliet,  swallowing  the  persis 
tent  lump  in  her  throat,  "and  now  you've 
done  it,  you  're  ashamed  of  me  ! " 

"  I  did  n't  say  so,"  he  temporised. 

"You  did  n't  have  to.  Don't  you  suppose  I 
can  see  ?  " 

"Don'i  get  so  mad  about  it.  She  was 
laughing  at  you  last  night  and  so  was  the  Doc 
tor.  They  did  n't  think  it  was  nice  for  you  to 
put  on  your  knickers  and  swing  on  the  trapeze. 
Ladies  don't  do  that." 

"You  taught  me,"  she  reminded  him, 
quickly. 

"  Yes,  but  I  did  n't  ask  you  to  do  it  before 
everybody.  You  started  it  yourself.  Isabel 


treats,  UMe  dears' 


333 


would  n't  look  at  you,  and  you  remember  what 
the  Doctor  said,  don't  you?  He  told  you  to 
cut  it  out." 

"That  was  because  he  thought  it  was  dan 
gerous." 

1  Tis  n't  dangerous,  and  he  knows  it.  He 
knew  it  was  n't  refined  and  lady-like  for  you  to 
do  that  before  men." 

"It  was  only  a  doctor,"  Juliet  replied,  in 
a  small,  thin  voice.  "They  're  different  from 
other  people.  I  would  n't  let  the  Rents  see 
me  in  my  knickers,  and  you  know  it." 

"You  would,  too,  if  you  wanted  to. 
You  're  a  perfect  tomboy.  You  would  n't 
see  Isabel  doing  that." 

"Probably  not,"  answered  Juliet,  dryly. 
"  She  's  no  more  likely  to  do  that  than  I  would 
be  to  go  back  on  the  man  I  'd  promised  to 
marry,  just  because  his  hand  was  hurt." 

"  You  '11  never  have  a  chance  to  go  back  on 
anybody,  so  you  don't  know  what  you  'd  do." 

"Why  won't  I?" 

"Because,"  answered  Romeo,  choosing  his 
words  carefully,  "when  a  man  gets  married, 
he  wants  to  marry  a  lady,  not  a  tomboy." 
For  some  unknown  reason,  he  resented  any  slur 
cast  at  Isabel. 

"And,"  replied  Juliet,  cuttingly,  "when  a 
lady  gets  married,  she  wants  to  marry  a  gen 
tleman."  The  accent  carried  insult  with 
it,  and  Romeo  left  the  house,  slamming  the 


H  perfect 


334 


©R>  "Rose  anfc  Stiver 


JBef  ore  tbe 
dDfrrot 


door  and  whistling  defiantly  until  he  was  out 
of  hearing. 

There  was  no  longer  any  need  for  Juliet  to 
keep  back  the  tears.  Stretched  at  full  length 
upon  the  disembowelled  sofa,  she  buried  her 
face  in  the  pillow  and  wept  until  she  could  weep 
no  more.  Then  she  bathed  her  face,  and 
pinned  up  her  tangled  hair,  and  went  to  the 
one  long  mirror  the  Crosby  mansion  boasted  of, 
to  take  an  inventory  of  herself. 

She  could  see  that  Romeo  was  right — she 
did  n't  look  like  a  lady.  Her  skirt  was  too 
short  and  did  n't  hang  evenly,  and  her  belt  was 
wrong  because  she  had  no  corsets.  Juliet 
made  a  wry  face  at  the  thought  of  a  corset. 
None  of  her  clothes  fitted  like  Isabel's,  her  face 
was  tanned,  her  hands  rough  and  red,  and  her 
nails  impossible. 

"  I  look  just  like  a  boy,"  Juliet  admitted  to 
herself,  "dressed  up  in  girl's  clothes.  If 
Romie's  hair  was  long,  and  he  had  on  this  dress, 
he  'd  look  just  like  me." 

Pride  forbade  her  to  go  to  Isabel  and  in 
quire  into  the  mysteries  of  her  all-pervading 
femininity.  Anyhow,  Isabel  would  laugh  at 
her.  Anybody  would  laugh  at  her — unless 
Miss  Bernard — but  she  had  gone  away.  She 
was  a  lady,  even  more  than  Isabel,  and  so 
was  the  little  old  lady  everybody  called  "Aunt 
Francesca." 

If  she  could   see   "Aunt   Francesca,"   she 


"  Hears,  1FMe  Hears" 


335 


would  n't  be  ashamed  to  tell  her  what  Romeo 
had  said.  If  she  only  knew  what  to  do,  she 
could  do  it,  for  she  had  plenty  of  money. 
Juliet  dimly  discerned  that  money  was  very 
necessary  if  one  would  be  the  same  sort  of 
"lady"  that  the  others  were. 

"  If  Mamma  had  n't  died,"  said  Juliet,  to 
herself,  "  I  guess  I  'd  have  been  as  much  of  a 
lady  as  anybody,  and  nobody  would  have  dared 
call  me  a  tomboy."  Her  heart  ached  for  the 
gentle  little  mother  who  had  died  many  years 
ago.  "She  would  have  known,"  sighed  Juliet. 
''Mamma  was  a  lady  if  anybody  ever  was,  and 
she  did  n't  have  the  money  we  've  got  either." 

The  life  of  the  Crosbys  had  been  bare  of 
luxuries  and  sometimes  even  of  comforts,  until 
the  considerate  uncle  died  and  left  his  money  to 
the  twins.  As  fortunes  go,  it  was  not  much, 
but  it  seemed  inexhaustible  to  them  because 
they  did  not  know  how  to  spend  it. 

"  I  '11  go  this  very  day,"  thought  Juliet, 
"  and  see  Aunt  Francesca.  I  '11  ask  her.  If 
Isabel  is  there,  I  '11  have  to  wait,  but  if  I  don't 
ask  for  Isabel,  maybe  I  won't  see  her." 

Having  decided  upon  a  plan  of  action,  the 
way  seemed  easier,  so  Juliet  went  about  her 
daily  duties  with  a  lighter  heart,  and  even  sang 
after  a  fashion,  as  she  awkwardly  pressed  the 
wrinkles  from  her  white  muslin  gown.  Though 
it  was  September,  it  was  still  warm  enough  to 
wear  it. 


B  plan  of 
Hction 


336  ®lb  1Rose  ant)  Silver 

Romeo,  having  only  the  day  before  attained 
his  maturity,  had  taken  unto  himself  the  mas 
culine  privilege  of  getting  angry  at  someone 
else  for  what  he  himself  had  done.  He  was 
furious  with  Juliet,  though  he  did  not  trouble 
himself  to  ask  why.  "The  idea,"  he  muttered, 
"of  her  criticising  Isabel !" 

His  wounded  sensibilities  impelled  him  to 
walk  past  the  Bernard  house,  very  slowly, 
two  or  three  times,  but  there  was  no  one  in 
sight.  He  went  to  the  post-office  as  a  mere 
matter  of  habit;  there  was  seldom  any  mail 
for  the  Crosbys  except  on  the  first  of  the  month, 
when  the  lawyer's  formal  note,  "enclosing  re 
mittance,"  came  duly  to  hand.  Nobody 
seemed  to  be  around — there  was  nothing  to 
do.  It  would  have  been  natural  to  go  back 
home,  but  he  was  too  angry  for  that,  and  in 
wardly  vowed  to  stay  away  long  enough  to 
bring  Juliet  to  her  senses. 

He  recalled  the  night  he  had  called  upon 
Isabel  and  had  not  reached  home  until  late. 
He  remembered  the  torrent  of  tears  and 
Juliet's  cry:  "Oh,  Romie  !  Romie  !  I  don't 
care  where  you  've  been  as  long  as  I  've  got  you 
back  ! "  It  pleased  his  masculine  sense  of  su 
periority  to  know  that  he  had  power  over  a 
woman's  tears — to  make  them  come  or  go, 
as  he  chose. 

He  sauntered  slowly  toward  Kent's,  thinking 
that  he  might  while  away  an  hoiT  or  two  there. 


Ufcie  Uears" 


337 


It  was  a  long  time  until  midnight,  and  there 
seemed  to  be  nothing  to  do  but  to  sit  and  wait. 
He  could  ask  about  the  car  and  whether  it  was 
all  right  now.  If  Doctor  Jack  could  run  it, 
maybe  they  could  go  out  together  for  a  little 
spin.  It  would  be  nice  to  go  by  his  own  house 
and  never  even  turn  his  head.  And,  if  they 
could  get  Isabel  to  go,  too,  it  would  teach  Juliet 
a  much-needed  lesson. 

He  had  nearly  reached  his  destination  when 
he  came  upon  the  picture  of  Beauty  in  Dis 
tress.  Isabel  sat  at  the  roadside,  leaning 
against  a  tree,  sobbing.  Romeo  gave  a  long, 
low  whistle  of  astonishment.  "Say/*  he 
called,  cheerfully,  "what  's  wrong?  " 

Isabel  looked  up,  wiped  her  eyes,  and  began 
to  weep  more  earnestly.  Though  Juliet's  tears 
had  moved  him  to  anger  and  disdain,  Isabel's 
grief  roused  all  his  chivalry.  He  sat  down 
beside  her  and  tried  to  take  her  handkerchief 
away  from  her  eyes. 

"Don't,"  he  said,  softly.  "What's  the 
matter?" 

"Oh,"  sobbed  Isabel,  "I  'm  the  most  miser 
able  girl  in  the  whole  world.  Nobody  wants 
me!" 

"What  makes  you  say  that?"  demanded 
Romeo.  "  Look  here,  if  you  '11  tell  me  who  's 
been  making  you  cry,  I  '11  -  " 

He  did  not  finish  the  sentence,  but  his  tone 
indicated  that  dire  misfortune  would  be  visited 


338 


<§>!&  IRose  an&  Stiver 


upon  the  luckless  individual  directly  respon- 

Ualeof          -V,     f       f      ,     „  J 

sible  for  Isabel  s  tears. 

"You  know,"  began  Isabel,  after  her  sobs 
had  quieted  somewhat,  "  I  was  engaged  to  Alli 
son  Kent  until  you  ran  over  us.  At  first  I 
could  n't  go  over — I  was  so  bruised  and  lame 
and  before  I  was  well  enough  to  go,  I  got  a 
note  from  him,  releasing  me  from  the  engage 
ment/' 

"Yes?"  queried  Romeo,  encouragingly. 
"Goon." 

"Well,  I  didn't  think  I  ought  to  go  over, 
under  the  circumstances,  but  Aunt  Francesca 
made  me  go — she  's  been  mean  to  me,  too. 
So  I  went  and  he  was  horrid  to  me — perfectly 
horrid.  I  offered  him  his  ring  and  he  almost 
threw  his  violin  at  me,  and  told  me  to  keep 
that,  too.  I  was  afraid  of  him. 

"Well,  since  that,  everything  has  been  awful. 
I  wrote  to  Mamma  and  told  her  about  it  and 
that  I  could  n't  stay  here  any  longer,  and  she 
did  n't  answer  for  a  long  time.  Then  she  said 
I  would  have  to  stay  where  I  was  until  she 
could  make  new  arrangements  for  me  and  that 
she  was  glad  I  was  n't  going  to  marry  a  cripple. 
She  said  something  about  'the  survival  of  the 
unfit,'  but  I  did  n't  understand  it. 

"And  then,  last  night,  when  I  heard  that 
Allison  was  n't  going  to  lose  his  hand  after  all, 
I  thought  I  ought  to  take  his  violin  back  to  him 
and  try  to  well, — to  make  up,  you  know.  So 


"ICears,  flfcle  Uears" 


339 


I  've  just  been  there.  He  took  the  violin  all 
right,  but  he  did  n't  seem  to  want  me.  He 
said  nothing  could  ever  be  as  it  was  before.  I 
was  ready  to  get  married  and  go  away — I  'd  do 
almost  anything  for  a  change — but  he  actually 
seemed  to  be  glad  to  get  rid  of  me  and  they  've 
given  my  automobile,  that  Colonel  Kent  him 
self  gave  to  me  for  a  wedding  present,  to  that 
doctor  who  was  out  to  your  house  last  night. 
Oh,"  sobbed  Isabel,  "I  wish  I  was  dead.  If 
you  only  had  n't  run  over  us,  everything  would 
have  been  all  right !  " 

Romeo's  young  face  was  set  in  stern  and 
unaccustomed  lines.  He,  then,  was  directly 
responsible  for  Isabel's  tears.  He  had  run 
over  them  and  hurt  Isabel  and  made  everything 
wrong  for  her,  and,  because  she  was  a  lady,  she 
was  n't  blaming  him  in  the  least.  She  had 
merely  pointed  out  to  him,  as  gently  as  she 
could,  what  he  had  done  to  her. 

A  bright  idea  flashed  into  his  mind,  as  he 
remembered  that  he  was  twenty-one  now  and 
could  do  as  he  pleased  without  consulting  any 
body.  He  reached  into  his  pocket,  drew  out  a 
handful  of  greenbacks  and  silver,  even  a  gold 
piece  or  two.  It  would  serve  Juliet  just  right 
and  make  up  to  Isabel  for  what  he  had  done. 

"I  say,  Isabel,"  he  began  awkwardly. 
"Would  you  be  willing  to  marry  me?" 

Isabel  quickly  dried  her  tears.  "Why,  I 
don't  know,"  she  answered,  much  astonished. 


ttbe  fftasb 
of  an  flfcea 


340 


IRose  anb  Stiver 


Isabel 

Consents 


Then  the  practical  side  of  her  nature  asserted 
itself.  "  Have  you  got  money  enough  ?  " 

Romeo  tendered  the  handful  of  currency. 
"All  this,  and  plenty  more  in  the  bank." 

"  I  know,  but  it  was  the  bank  I  was  talking 
about.  Have  you  got  enough  for  us  to  live  at 
a  nice  hotel  and  go  to  the  theatre  every  night  ?  " 

"More  than  that,"  Romeo  asserted,  confi 
dently.  "  I  've  got  loads." 

"I — don't  know,"  said  Isabel,  half  to  her 
self.  "It  would  serve  them  all  right.  Allison 
used  to  be  jealous  of  you,"  she  added,  with  a 
sidelong  glance  that  set  his  youthful  heart  to 
fluttering. 

"Juliet  is  jealous  of  you,"  Romeo  responded 
disloyally.  "We  had  an  awful  scrap  this 
morning  because  I  asked  her  why  she  did  n't 
try  to  be  a  lady,  like  you." 

"Of  course,"  replied  Isabel,  smoothing  her 
gown  with  a  dainty  hand,  "  I  've  always  liked 
Juliet,  but  I  liked  you  better." 

"  Really,  Isabel  ?    Did  you  always  like  me  ?  " 

"Always." 

"Then  come  on.  Let 's  skip  out  now,  the 
way  they  do  in  the  books.  Let 's  take  the 
next  train." 

"Why  not  get  married  here?"  objected 
Isabel,  practically,  "and  take  the  four-thirty 
into  town  ?  There  's  a  minister  here,  and  while 
you  're  seeing  about  it,  I  can  go  home  and  get 
my  coat." 


"Uears,  f&le  Uears"  34i 

"All  right,  but  don't  stop  for  anything  else.       B3ohe 
We  've  got  to  hustle.     Don't  tell  anybody." 

"Not  even  Aunt  Francesca?  " 

"No,  she  'd  make  a  fuss.  And  besides,  she 
does  n't  deserve  it,  if  she  's  been  mean  to  you." 
Romeo  leaned  over  and  bestowed  a  meaningless 
peck  upon  the  fair  cheek  of  his  betrothed. 
"  I  '11  never  be  mean  to  you,"  he  said. 

"  I  know  you  won't,"  Isabel  returned,  trust 
fully.  Then  she  laughed  as  she  rose  to  her  feet. 
"  It  will  be  a  good  joke  on  Allison,"  she  said, 
gleefully. 

"  It  '11  be  a  good  joke  on  everybody,"  Romeo 
agreed,  happily. 

"Listen,"  said  Isabel.  A  faint  chug-chug 
was  heard  in  the  distance,  gradually  coming 
nearer.  "It's  my  car.  I  wish  you  hadn't 
been  so  quick  to  get  rid  of  it  last  night.  We 
could  have  gone  away  in  it  now." 

"Never  mind,  I  '11  buy  you  another." 

They  hoped  to  reach  the  turn  in  the  road 
before  the  car  got  there,  but  failed.  Doctor 
Jack  came  to  a  dead  stop.  "Want  a  lift?" 
he  asked. 

"No,  thank  you,"  said  Romeo. 

"No,  thank  you,"  repeated  Isabel,  primly. 
Colonel  Kent  had  greeted  her  with  the  most 
chilling  politeness,  and  she  burned  to  get 
away. 

"Say,"  resumed  Romeo,  "will  you  do  some 
thing  for  me  ?  " 


342 


1Rose  anfc  Silver 


IRomeo's 


"Sure,"  replied  the  Doctor,  cordially. 
"Anything." 

"Will  you  take  a  note  out  to  my  sister  for 
me?  I  shan't  get  back  for — some  time." 

"You  bet.    Where  is  it?" 

"I  haven't  written  it  yet.  Just  wait  a 
minute." 

Romeo  tore  a  leaf  from  an  old  memorandum 
book  which  he  carried,  and  wrote  rapidly: 

"DEAR  JULE: 

"  Isabel  and  I  have  gone  away  to  get  married. 
You  can  have  half  of  everything.  I  'II  let  you 
know  where  to  send  my  clothes. 

"R.  C." 

He  was  tempted  to  add  an  apology  for  what 
he  had  said  earlier  in  the  day,  but  his  newly 
acquired  importance  made  him  refrain  from 
anything  so  compromising. 

He  folded  the  note  into  a  little  cocked  hat 
and  addressed  it.  "Much  obliged,"  he  said, 
laconically.  "So  long." 

"So  long,"  returned  Doctor  Jack,  starting 
the  engine. 

"Good-bye,"  said  the  Colonel,  lifting  his  hat. 

Romeo  left  Isabel  at  Madame  Bernard's 
gate.  "Hurry  up,"  he  said,  in  a  low  tone. 
"  I  '11  meet  you  under  the  big  elm  down  the 
road." 

"All  right,"  she  whispered. 

Madame    Bernard    was    asleep,    so    Isabel 


"TTears,  HMe  Uears" 


343 


hastily  crammed  a  few  things  into  a  suit-case 
and  slipped  out  of  the  house,  unseen  and  un 
heard.  As  the  half-starved  minister  of  the 
country  parish  was  sorely  in  need  of  the  gener 
ous  fee  Romeo  pressed  upon  him  in  advance, 
the  arrangements  were  pitifully  easy.  He  was 
at  the  trysting  place  fully  ten  minutes  before 
she  came  in  sight,  staggering  under  the  unac 
customed  burden  of  a  heavy  suit-case. 

It  might  not  have  occurred  to  him  to  relieve 
Juliet  of  a  cumbrous  piece  of  baggage,  but  he 
instinctively  took  it  from  Isabel.  "Come  on," 
he  said.  "  We  '  ve  got  to  hurry  if  we  don't  want 
to  miss  the  four-thirty." 

"  How  long  does  it  take  to  get  married  ?  " 
queried  Isabel. 

"Not  long,  I  guess.  See  how  people  fool 
around  over  it,  and  we  're  getting  through  with 
it  in  one  afternoon.  We  're  making  a  record, 
I  guess." 

It  seemed  that  they  were,  for  when  they  came 
to  the  shabby  little  brown  house,  near  the  big 
white  church,  the  minister,  his  wife,  and  a 
next-door  neighbour  were  waiting.  In  a  very 
short  time,  the  ceremony  was  over  and  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Romeo  Crosby  were  on  the  train,  speeding 
toward  their  honeymoon  and  the  lively  years 
that  undoubtedly  lay  ahead  of  them. 

Allison  had  changed  his  mind  about  going 
out  that  afternoon,  but  promised  to  go  next 


344 


8>l&  TRose  anfc  Silver 


Ube 
fateful 


time.  Colonel  Kent  remained  at  home,  and 
Doctor  Jack  sped  away  alone  upon  his  er 
rand. 

When  he  reached  Crosby's,  Juliet,  clad  in  her 
best,  was  just  leaving  the  house.  She  was  out 
wardly  cheerful,  but  her  face  still  bore  traces  of 
tears. 

"Where  were  you  going?"  asked  the  Doc 
tor,  as  Juliet  greeted  him.  There  was  a  new 
shyness  in  her  manner,  as  of  some  unwonted 
restraint. 

"I  was  going  into  town.  I  wanted  to  see 
Aunt  Francesca."  She  slipped  easily  into  the 
habit  of  the  others,  seldom  hearing  the  name 
"Madame  Bernard." 

"  I  '11  take  you.  Here  's  a  note  from  your 
brother." 

Juliet  opened  it,  read  the  fateful  message, 
and  turned  white  as  death. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  the  Doctor,  much 
alarmed. 

In  answer,  she  offered  him  the  note,  her  hand 
shaking  pitifully.  The  Doctor  read  it  twice  be 
fore  he  grasped  the  full  meaning  of  it.  "Well, 
I  '11  be—"  he  said,  half  to  himself. 

Unable  to  stand,  Juliet  sat  down  upon  the 
well-worn  door-step  and  he  sat  down  beside  her. 
"It's  all  my  fault,"  she  said,  solemnly. 
"Romie  told  me  this  morning  that  I  was  n't  a 
lady,  and  he  wanted  me  to  be  like  her.  He  said 
I  was  a  tomboy,  and  I  told  him  that  if  I  was, 


ITears,  flMe  Uears" 


345 


he  'd  done  it  himself,  and  he  got  mad  and  went 
away,  and  now " 

Juliet  burst  into  tears,  but  she  had  no  hand 
kerchief,  so  Doctor  Jack  gave  her  his. 

'"Tears,  idle  tears/"  he  quoted  lightly. 
"  I  say,  kid,  don't  take  it  so  hard." 

"  I— I  'm  not  a  lady,"  she  sobbed. 

"You  are,"  he  assured  her.  "You're  the 
finest  little  lady  I  know." 

"  Don't—don't,"  she  sobbed.  "  Don't  make 
fun  of  me.  Romie  said  that  you  were — laugh 
ing  at  me — yesterday — because  I  was — a — a 
tomboy  ! " 

"Kid,"  he  said,  softly,  almost  unmanned 
by  a  sudden  tenderness  quite  foreign  to  his 
experience.  "Oh,  my  dear  little  girl,  won't 
you  look  at  me  ?  " 

The  tone  was  wholly  new  to  Juliet — she  did 
not  know  that  any  man  could  be  so  tender,  so 
beautifully  kind.  "It's  because  he's  a  doc 
tor,"  she  thought.  "  He 's  used  to  seeing 
people  when  they  don't  feel  right." 

"  I  'm  so  sorry,"  he  was  saying.  "  Your 
brother  did  n't  mean  anything  by  it,  little  girl. 
He  was  just  teasing." 

"He  wasn't,"  returned  Juliet,  wiping  her 
eyes.  "Don't  you  think  I  know  when  he  s 
teasing  and  when  he  is  n't?  I  'm  not  a  lady; 
I  'm  only  a  tomboy,  and  now  he  's  gone  away 
with  her  and  left  me  all  alone." 

"  You  '11  never  be  alone  if  I  can  help  it,"  he 


Hew  to 

Juliet 


346  ®U)  1Rose  an&  Silver 

assured  her,  fervently.  "Look  here,  do  you 
suppose  you  could  ever  learn  to  like  me  ?  " 

"Why,  I  like  you  now — I  've  always  liked 
you." 

"I  know,  but  I  don't  mean  that.  Do  you 
think  you  could  ever  like  me  a  whole  lot? 
Enough  to  marry  me,  I  mean  ?  " 

"Why,  I  don't  know — I  never  thought — " 
Juliet's  voice  trailed  off  into  an  inarticulate 
murmur  of  astonishment. 

"Won't  you  try?"  he  pleaded.  "Oh, 
Juliet,  I  've  loved  you  ever  since  I  first  saw 
you  !" 

The  high  colour  surged  into  her  face.  He  was 
not  joking — he  meant  every  word.  Even 
Juliet  could  see  that. 

"Won't  you  try,  dear?  That's  all  I'll 
ask  for,  now." 

"Why,  yes,"  she  said,  her  wide  blue  eyes 
fixed  upon  his.  "  I  'd  try  almost  anything — 
for  you,  but  I  'm  only  a  tomboy." 

Doctor  Jack  caught  her  cold  little  hands  in 
his.  "  Kiss  me,"  he  said,  huskily. 

Juliet's  face  burned,  but  she  lifted  her  lips 
to  his,  obediently  and  simply  as  a  child.  The 
man  hesitated  for  an  instant,  then  pushed  her 
away  from  him;  not  unkindly,  but  firmly. 

"No,  1  won't  take  it,  Princess,"  he  said,  in 
a  strange  tone.  "  I  '11  wait  until  you  wake 
up." 

"  I  'm — not  asleep,"  she  stammered. 


"Uears, 


Treats" 


347 


"  You  are  in  some  ways."  Then  he  added, 
irrelevantly,  "Thank  God  ! " 

"  I  don't  know,"  remarked  Juliet,  at  the  end 
of  an  uncomfortable  pause,  "what  to  do  with 
myself.  I  don't  want  to  stay  here  alone  and  I 
would  n't  go  anywhere  near  them — not  for  the 
world." 

"  Where  did  you  say  you  were  going,  when  I 
came?" 

"To  Aunt  Francesca's — Madame  Bernard, 
you  know." 

"Good  business,"  he  answered,  nodding 
vigorous  approval.  "Come  on.  She  seems 
to  be  the  unfailing  refuge  of  the  shipwrecked 
mariner  in  this  district.  If  I  'm  not  much  mis 
taken,  she'll  take  you  into  her  big  house  and 
her  bigger  heart." 

"Oh,"  said  Juliet,  wistfully,  "do  you  think 
she  would  take  me — and  make  me  into  a  lady  ?  " 

"  I  think  she  '11  take  you,"  he  responded, 
after  a  brief  struggle  with  himself,  "  but  I  don't 
want  you  made  over.  I  want  you  to  stay 
just  exactly  as  you  are.  Oh,  you  dear  little 
kid,"  he  muttered,  "you  '11  try  to  care,  won't 
you?" 

"  I  '11  try,"  she  promised,  sweetly,  as  she 
climbed  into  the  big  red  machine.  "I  did  n't 
think  I  'd  ever  be  in  this  car." 

"You  can  come  whenever  you  like.  It's 
mine,  now." 

Juliet    did    not    seem    to    hear.    The    car 


Ube 

Unfailing 
•Refuge 


1Rose  ant>  Stiver 


Growing 
TOP 


hummed  along  the  dusty  road,  making  a  sooth 
ing,  purring  noise.  Pensively  she  looked 
across  the  distant  fields,  whence  came  the  hum 
and  whir  of  reaping.  There  was  a  far-away 
look  in  her  face  that  the  man  beside  her  was 
powerless  to  understand.  She  was  making 
swift  readjustments  as  best  she  might,  and, 
wisely,  he  left  her  to  herself. 

As  they  approached  Madame  Bernard's, 
Juliet  turned  to  him.  "I  was  just  thinking," 
she  sighed,  "  how  quickly  you  grow  up  after  you 
get  to  be  twenty-one." 

He  made  no  answer.  He  swallowed  hard 
and  turned  the  car  into  the  driveway.  Aunt 
Francesca  came  out  on  the  veranda,  followed 
by  Mr.  Boffin,  as  Juliet  jumped  out  of  the  car. 
She  had  the  crumpled  note  in  her  cold  little 
hand. 

Without  a  word,  she  offered  it  to  Madame 
Bernard  and  waited.  The  beautiful  face  in 
stantly  became  soft  with  pity.  "My  dear 
child,"  she  breathed.  "  My  dear  little  mother 
less  child  !" 

Juliet  went  into  her  open  arms  as  straight 
as  a  homing  pigeon  to  its  nest.  "Oh,  Aunt 
Francesca,"  she  sobbed,  "will  you  take  me  and 
make  a  lady  out  of  me  ?  " 

"  You  're  already  a  lady,"  laughed  the  older 
woman  amid  her  tears.  "Come  in,  Juliet 
dear — come  home  !  " 


349 


XXIV 

1bou0e  TKttbere  love  %ive& 

IT  was  past  the  middle  of  October,  and  Alii-     autumn 
son's  injured  hand  was  not  only  free  of  its 
bandages,  but  he  had  partially  regained  the 
use  of  it.     Doctor  Jack  still  lingered,  eagerly 
seizing  every  excuse  that  presented  itself. 

"  I  suppose  I  ought  to  be  back  looking  for 
another  job,"  he  regretfully  observed  to  Alli 
son,  "  but  I  like  it  here,  and  besides,  I  want  to 
hear  you  play  on  your  fiddle  before  I  go." 

Allison  laughed  and  hospitably  urged  him  to 
stay  as  long  as  he  chose.  Colonel  Kent  added, 
heartily,  after  an  old  Southern  fashion:  "My 
house  is  yours." 

Crimson  and  golden  leaves  rained  from  the 
maples,  and  the  purple  winds  of  Autumn  swept 
them  into  drifts  at  the  roadside.  Amethystine 
haze  shimmered  in  the  valleys  and  lay,  cloud- 
like,  upon  the  distant  hills.  Through  the 
long  aisles  of  trees  a  fairy  patter  of  tiny  furred 
feet  rustled  back  and  forth  upon  the  fallen 
leaves.  Only  a  dropping  nut  or  a  busy  squir 
rel  broke  the  exquisite  peace  of  the  forest, 


<S>R>  IRose  an&  Silver 


H  HQorlfc 
of  Cbanoe 


where  the  myriad  life  of  the  woods  waited,  in 
hushed  expectancy,  for  the  tide  of  the  year  to 
turn. 

Like  a  scarlet  shuttle  plying  through  the  web 
of  Autumn,  the  big  red  touring  car  hummed 
and  whirred,  with  a  happy  young  man  at 
the  wheel  and  a  laughing  girl  beside  him. 
Juliet's  momentary  self-consciousness  was  gone, 
and  she  was  her  sunny  self  again,  though  she 
still  occasionally  wept  in  secret,  longing  for  her 
brother. 

"Aunt  Francesca,"  she  said,  one  day,  when 
the  two  were  sewing  on  dainty  garments 
destined  to  adorn  Juliet,  "do  you  think  Romie 
will  ever  come  back  to  me?  " 

"Not  in  the  sense  you  mean,  dear,"  replied 
Madame,  gently.  "We  live  in  a  world  of 
change  and  things  are  never  the  same,  even 
from  day  to  day." 

"She  made  him  think  I  was  a  tomboy,  and 
now  she  '11  teach  him  not  to  love  me.  Why 
does  she  want  everything?  " 

"  Some  women  do,  when  they  marry.  Many 
are  not  content  to  be  sweetheart  and  wife, 
but  must  take  the  place  of  mother  and  sisters 
too.  But  remember,  Juliet,  when  a  woman 
closes  a  man's  heart  against  those  of  his  own 
blood,  the  one  door  she  has  left  open  will  some 
day  be  slammed  in  her  own  face." 

"And  then ?" 

"Then    the   other   doors   will   swing   ajar, 


ITbe  Ibouse  Mbere  %o\>e  Xfx>efc 


351 


turning  slowly  on  rusty  hinges,  but  the  women 
for  whom  they  are  opened  will  never  cross  the 
threshold  again." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  they  have  ceased  to  care.  There 
is  nothing  so  dead  as  a  woman's  dead  love. 
When  the  fire  goes  out  and  no  single  ember 
is  left,  the  ashes  are  past  the  power  of  flame  to 
rekindle." 

"Do  you  think  that,  after  a  while,  I  won't 
care  for  Romie  any  more  ?  " 

"Not  as  you  used  to — that  is  impossible 
even  now." 

Juliet  sighed  and  hastily  wiped  away  a  tear. 
With  a  quick,  sure  stroke,  her  life  seemed  to 
have  been  divided. 

"Don't,  dear.  Remember  what  you  have 
had.  I  often  think  a  woman  has  crossed  the 
line  between  youth  and  maturity,  when  she 
begins  to  put  away,  in  the  lavender  of  memory, 
the  lovely  things  she  has  had — and  is  never  to 
have  again.  The  after  years  are  made  up,  so 
many  times,  of  things  one  has  had — rounded 
off  and  put  away  forever." 

"  I  know,"  returned  Juliet,  with  a  far-away 
look  in  her  eyes.  "  I  remember  the  day  I  grew 
up — almost  the  hour.  It  was  the  day  I  came 
here." 

Madame  stooped  to  kiss  the  girl's  rosy  cheek, 
then  swiftly  turned  the  talk  to  linen  and 
lace.  Always  quick  to  observe,  Juliet  had  ac- 


ing  line 


352  ©l&  IRose  anfc  Silver 

scarlet  quired  little  graces  of  tone  and  manner,  soft 
ened  her  abruptness,  and,  guided  by  loving 
tact,  had  begun  to  bloom  like  a  primrose 
in  a  sunny  window. 

"When — when  Miss  Bernard  comes  back 
again/'  asked  Juliet,  wistfully,  "shall  I  have 
to  go?" 

"No,  dear — indeed  no  !  This  is  your  home 
until  the  right  man  comes  a-wooing,  and  takes 
you  to  a  little  house  of  your  own." 

Scarlet  signals  flamed  in  Juliet's  cheeks  as  she 
earnestly  devoted  herself  to  her  sewing,  and 
Madame  smiled.  Already,  in  quiet  moments, 
she  had  planned  a  pretty  wedding  gown  for 
Juliet,  and  a  still  prettier  wedding. 

Allison  came  frequently,  sometimes  alone 
and  sometimes  with  his  father  or  Doctor  Jack. 
He  had  remarked  once  that  when  he  desired 
to  consult  his  physician,  he  always  knew  where 
to  find  him.  Madame  affected  not  to  notice 
that  a  strange  young  man  had  become  a  veri 
table  part  of  her  family,  for  she  liked  Doctor 
Jack  and  made  him  very  welcome,  morning, 
noon,  and  night. 

On  Wednesdays,  the  men  of  the  other  house 
hold  dined  with  her.  Saturdays,  she  and 
Juliet  were  honoured  guests  at  the  Colonel's, 
though  he  deprecated  his  own  hospitality.  "A 
house  needs  a  woman  at  the  head  of  it,"  he 
said.  "It  was  different  when  Miss  Rose  was 
here." 


"fcouse  Mbere  SLove  3Li\>efc  353 


"  Indeed  it  was/'  thought  Allison,  though  he     wabcrc  fa 
did  not  put  it  into  words. 

At  the  end  of  the  month,  when  it  was  cool 
enough  to  make  an  open  fire  seem  the  most 
cheerful  of  companions,  Madame  had  them  all 
at  her  own  table.  Juliet  was  surpassingly 
lovely  in  her  first  long  gown,  of  ivory-tinted 
chiffon,  ornamented  only  by  hand  embroidery 
and  a  bit  of  deep-toned  lace.  Her  wavy  hair 
was  gathered  into  a  loose  knot,  from  which 
tiny  tendrils  escaped  to  cling  about  her  face. 
Madame  had  put  a  pink  rose  into  her  hair, 
slipped  another  into  her  belt,  and  had  been 
well  pleased  with  the  work  of  her  own 
hands. 

After  dinner,  while  Juliet  played  piquet  with 
the  Colonel,  and  Doctor  Jack  sat  quietly  in  the 
shadow,  where  he  could  watch  every  play  of 
light  and  shade  upon  the  girl's  lovely  chang 
ing  face,  Allison  drew  Madame  into  the  library 
and  quietly  closed  the  door. 

"Aunt  Francesca,"  he  said,  without  prelim 
inary,  "I  've  been  more  kinds  of  a  fool  in  a  few 
months  than  most  men  can  manage  to  be  in  a 
lifetime." 

"Yes,"  Madame  agreed,  with  a  cool  little 
smile. 

"Where  is  Rose?  "  he  demanded. 

"Rose,"  replied  Madame,  lightly,  "has  gone 
away." 

"I  know  that,"  he  flashed  back.     "I  realise 


354 


TRose  anfc  Stiver 


H  little 

t)ousc  in 

tbe  TJdool* 


it  every  day  and  every  hour  of  my  life.  I 
asked  where  she  was." 

"And  I,"  answered  Madame,  imperturably, 
"have  told  you.  She  is  simply  'away/  " 

"Is  she  well?" 

"Yes." 

"Is  she  happy?' 

"Of  course.  Why  not?  Beauty,  health, 
talent,  sufficient  income,  love — what  more  can 
a  woman  desire  ?  " 

"Aunt  Francesca  !  Tell  me,  please.  Where 
is  Rose?" 

"When  I  was  married,"  answered  Madame, 
idly  fingering  an  ivory  paper  knife,  "  I  went  to 
live  in  a  little  house  in  the  woods." 

"Yes?    Where  is  Rose?" 

"  It  was  only  a  tiny  place,  but  a  brook  sang 
in  front  of  it,  night  and  day." 

"Must  have  been  pretty.  Where  did  Rose 
go?" 

"It  was  very  quiet  there.  It  would  have 
been  a  good  place  to  work,  if  either  of  us  had 
been  musical,  or  anything  of  that  sort." 

"Charming,"  replied  Allison,  absently. 

"  It  was  n't  far  from  town,  either.  We  could 
take  a  train  at  two  o'clock,  and  reach  Holly 
Springs  a  little  after  three.  It  was  half  a 
mile  up  the  main  road  from  the  station,  and, 
as  we  had  no  horse,  we  always  walked." 

"Nice  walk,"  said  Allison,  dejectedly. 

"  I  have  never  been  back  since — since  I  was 


ITbc  Ibouse  TKRbere  3lox>e 


355 


left  alone.  Sometimes  I  have  thought  my 
little  house  ought  to  have  someone  to  look 
after  it.  A  house  gets  lonely,  too,  with  no 
one  to  care  for  it." 

"I  suppose  so.     Is  Rose  coming  back?  " 

"  I  have  often  thought  of  the  little  Summer 
cottages,  huddled  together  like  frightened 
children,  when  the  life  and  laughter  had  gone 
and  Winter  was  swiftly  approaching.  How 
cold  their  walls  must  be  and  how  empty  the 
heart  of  a  little  house,  when  there  is  no  fire 
there  !  So  like  a  woman,  when  love  has  gone 
out  of  her  life." 

Allison  sighed  and  began  to  sharpen  his 
pencil.  Madame  observed  that  his  hands  were 
trembling. 

"  I  see,"  he  said.  "  I  don't  deserve  to  know 
where  she  is,  and  Rose  doesn't  want  me  chas 
ing  after  her.  Never  mind — I  had  it  coming 
to  me,  I  guess.  What  a  hopeless  idiot  I  've 
been  ! " 

"  Yes,"  agreed  Madame,  cordially.  "Carlyle 
says  that  'there  is  no  other  entirely  fatal 
person.' ' 

Something  in  her  tone  gave  him  courage  for 
another  question.  "Once  for  all,  Aunt  Fran- 
cesca,  will  you  tell  me  where  Rose  is  ?  " 

"George  Washington  was  a  great  man," 
Madame  observed.  "He  never  told  a  lie. 
If  he  had  promised  not  to  tell  anything,  he 
never  told  it."  Then  she  added,  with  swift 


H 

Ices  Ufciot ! 


356 


TRose  anfc  Silver 


irrelevance,     this  used  to  be  a  very  pleasant 

firranfc        .  .        '  1T   lf     0      .         „ J    ' 

time  of  the  year  at  Holly  Springs. 

A  great  light  broke  in  upon  Allison.  "Aunt 
Francesca ! "  he  cried.  He  put  his  arms 
around  her,  lifted  her  from  her  chair,  and 
nearly  smothered  her  in  a  bear-like  embrace. 
"God  bless  you!" 

"He  has,"  murmured  Madame,  disengaging 
herself.  "  My  foster  son  has  been  a  dunce,  but 
his  reason  is  now  restored." 

The  two  o'clock  train  to  Holly  Springs  did 
not  leave  town  until  three,  so  Allison  waited 
for  an  hour  in  the  station,  fuming  with  impa 
tience.  Both  Colonel  Kent  and  the  Doctor 
had  offered  to  accompany  him,  individually 
or  together,  but  he  had  brusquely  put  them 
aside. 

"Don't  worry,"  he  said.  "My  name  and 
address  are  in  my  pocket  and  also  inside  my 
hat.  I  '11  check  my  grip  and  be  tenderly  con 
siderate  of  my  left  hand.  Good-bye." 

When  he  had  gone  Colonel  Kent  anxiously 
turned  to  the  doctor.  "Where  do  you  suppose 
— and  why " 

"  Chercbei  la  ]emme"  returned  the  Doctor. 

"What   makes   you    think   so?    It's   not 
» 

"It 's  about  the  only  errand  a  man  can  go 
on,  and  not  be  willing  to  take  another  chap 
along.  And  I  '11  bet  anything  I  've  got,  ex- 


ZTbe  t>ouse  Mbere  Xovc 


357 


cept  my  girl  and  my  buzz-cart,  that  it  is  n't  the 
fair,  false  one  we  met  at  the  hour  of  her  elope 
ment." 

"Must  be  Rose,  then,"  said  the  Colonel, 
half  to  himself,  "but  I  thought  nobody  knew 
where  she  was." 

"Love  will  find  a  way,"  hummed  Doctor 
Jack.  "  I  suppose  you  don't  care  to  go  for  a 
ride  this  afternoon  ?  " 

" Not  I,"  laughed  the  Colonel.  "  Why  don't 
you  take  Juliet?" 

"All  right,  since  you  ask  me  to.  I  wonder," 
he  continued  to  himself,  as  he  went  toward 
Madame  Bernard's  at  the  highest  rate  of  speed, 
"just  how  a  fellow  would  go  to  work  to  find  a 
woman  who  had  left  no  address  ?  Sixth  sense, 
I  suppose,  or  perhaps  seventh  or  eighth." 

Yet  Allison  was  doing  very  well,  with  only 
the  five  senses  of  the  normal  human  being  to 
aid  him  in  his  search.  He  left  the  train  at  the 
sleepy  little  place  known  as  "Holly  Springs," 
and  walked  up  the  main  road  as  though  he 
knew  the  way. 

"Half  a  mile,"  he  said  to  himself,  "and  a 
little  brown  house  in  the  woods  with  a  brook 
singing  in  front  of  it.  Ought  to  get  to  it  pretty 
soon." 

The  prattling  brook  was  half  asleep  in  its 
narrow  channel,  but  the  gentle  murmur  was 
audible  to  one  who  stopped  in  the  road  to  lis 
ten.  It  did  not  cross  the  road,  but  turned 


love  finbe 


358 


(S>U>  IRose  an&  Silver 


Hllison 

Enters  tbe 

little 

Douse 


away,  frightened,  from  the  dusty  highway  of  a 
modest  civilisation,  and  went  back  into  the 
woods,  where  it  met  another  brook  and  trav 
elled  to  the  river  in  company. 

The  house,  just  back  of  the  singing  stream, 
was  a  little  place,  as  Madame  Bernard  had 
said,  but,  though  he  rapped  repeatedly, 
no  one  answered.  So  he  lifted  the  latch  and 
cautiously  stepped  in. 

A  grand  piano,  unblushingly  new,  and  evi 
dently  of  recent  importation  from  the  city, 
occupied  most  of  the  tiny  living-room.  The 
embers  of  a  wood  fire  lay  on  the  hearth  and 
the  room  was  faintly  scented  with  the  sweet 
smoke  of  hard  pine.  A  well-known  and  well- 
worn  sonata  was  on  the  music  rack;  a  volume 
of  Chopin  had  fallen  to  the  floor.  Allison 
picked  it  up,  and  put  it  in  its  place.  On  the 
piano  was  some  of  his  own  music,  stamped  with 
his  Berlin  address. 

A  familiar  hat,  trimmed  with  crushed  roses, 
lay  on  the  window  seat.  The  faint,  indefinable 
scent  of  attar  of  roses  was  dimly  to  be  discerned 
as  a  sort  of  background  for  the  fragrant  smoke. 
An  open  book  lay  face  downward  on  the  table ; 
a  bit  of  dainty  needlework  was  thrown  care 
lessly  across  the  chair.  An  envelope  ad 
dressed  to  "Madame  Francesca  Bernard"  was 
on  the  old-fashioned  writing  desk,  and  a  single 
page  of  rose-stamped  paper  lay  near  it,  bear 
ing,  in  a  familiar  hand:  "My  Dearest." 


Ube  Douse  mbere  .Xox>e  Xivefc 

359 

The  two  words  filled  Allison  with  panic. 
Not  knowing  how  Rose  was  wont  to  address 
the  little  old  lady  they  both  loved,  he  conjured 
up  the  forbidding  spectre  of  The  Other  Man, 
that  had  haunted  him  for  weeks  past. 
Sighing,  he  sat  down  at  the  piano,  and  be 
gan  to  drum  idly,  with  one  hand.   "Wonder  if 
I  could  use  the  other/'  he  thought.     "  Pretty 
stiff,  I  guess." 
He  began  to  play,  from  memory: 

Ube  ©Ib 
8)a$0(Eame 
JBacfc 

A  tt     fr  >-  -    4*4*-<v  (>tr?r  •    £  ' 

r-fl-  a  .  —  H  —  1-<-|  <i  —  a  —  «  —  r-o  —  *  —  ^  «  —  , 

grtf;i  td  —  fc^  —  <»  »  <L    it"?  ^~^  —  i~ 

fT)       A     <              1                           II'         I                                  i 

^~  *~<J     F        ^B      LJ   '          ix  —  '• 

p    e  legato. 

g^-ff  f>  *i   -  —  fEBEB  f~    (*  I   — 

r  M'  1  1  1     r  1  1  '  1  I 

>-    1^. 

0U_i{?L:  #:  —  fc-^... 

iHSi  ^5"^  ~<f?  =r~  H 

Tfv           9   •            5to   S                                               '         :  J 

Hz                    i    *             '-                       •• 

tJ        l            b  K<jJ 

ii               f       f-                       r-        f- 

fett  —        —  w  *  —                                    :  : 

i&#  —  irf  r  r  i  —  r  —  *  —  ^~~  —  n 

and  outside  a  woman  paused,  almost  at  the 
threshold,  with  her  hands  upon  her  heart.     In 
a  sudden  throb  of  pain,  the  old  days  came  back. 
She  saw  herself  at  the  piano,  aching  with  love 

360 


IRose  anb  Stiver 


Idas  fit  * 


and  longing,  while  just  beyond,  in  an  old  moon 
lit  garden,  Allison  made  love  to  Isabel. 


Was  it  a  ghost,  or  was  it — ?  No,  she  was 
only  foolish.  Aunt  Francesca  had  promised 
not  to  tell,  and  she  never  broke  her  word. 
Besides,  why  should  he  seek  her  ? 


Ube  Douse  Mbere  Xo\>e 


361 


"It's  only  someone  who  has  stopped  in 
passing,"  Rose  thought,  "  to  ask  the  way  to  the 
next  town,  or  to  get  a  glass  of  water,  or — 
I  won't  be  foolish  !  I  '11  go  in  !" 

So  she  crossed  the  threshold,  into  the  house 
where  Love  lived. 

At  the  sound  of  her  step,  the  man  turned 
quickly,  the  music  ending  in  a  broken  chord. 

"You  ! "  she  gasped.    "Oh,  how  could  you 


come 


"By  train,"  answered  Allison,  gently,  "and 
then  by  walking.  I  've  frightened  you,  Rose." 

"No,"  she  stammered  sinking  into  a  chair. 
"  I  'm — I  'm  surprised,  of  course.  I  'm  glad 
you  're  well  enough  to  be  about  again.  Did — 
is  anything  wrong  with  Aunt  Francesca?" 
she  asked,  anxiously. 

"Indeed  there  isn't.  She  was  blooming 
like  a  lilac  bush  in  May,  when  I  saw  her  last 
night." 

"Did— did— she  tell  you?  " 

"She  did  not,"  he  returned,  concisely. 


1Ro0e 

Crosses tbc 
"Cbresbolb 


362 


IRose  ant)  Silver 


-Cbc  Otbet 


"Then  how — how ?  " 

"  I  just  came.  What  made  you  think  you 
could  get  away  from  me?  " 

"  I  was  n't — getting  away,"  she  returned, 
with  difficulty.  "  I  was  just  tired — and  I  came 
here  to — to  rest — and  to  work,"  she  concluded, 
lamely.  "  You  did  n't  need  me." 

"Not  need  you,"  he  cried,  stretching  his 
trembling  hands  toward  her.  "Oh,  Rose,  I 
need  you  always !  " 

Slowly  the  colour  ebbed  from  her  face,  leav 
ing  her  white  to  the  lips.  "Don't,"  she  said, 
pitifully. 

"Oh,  I  know,"  he  flashed  back,  bitterly. 
"I  've  lost  any  shadow  of  right  I  might  ever 
have  had,  because  I  was  a  blind  fool,  and  I 
never  had  any  chance  anyway.  All  I  can  do 
is  to  go  on  loving  you,  needing  you,  wanting 
you;  seeing  your  face  before  me  every  hour  of 
the  day  and  night,  thirsting  for  you  with  every 
fibre  of  me.  All  I  have  to  keep  is  an  empty 
husk  of  memory — those  few  weeks  you  were 
kind  to  me.  At  least  I  had  you  with  me, 
though  your  heart  belonged  to  someone  else." 

"Someone  else?"  she  repeated,  curiously. 
The  colour  was  coming  back  slowly  now. 

"Yes.  Have  you  forgotten  you  told  me? 
That  day,  don't  you  remember,  you  said  you 
had  loved  another  man  who  did  not  care  for 
you?" 

Rose  nodded.     Her  face  was  like  a  crimson 


ZTbe  t>ouse  TKIlbere  Xo\>e 


363 


flower  swaying  on  a  slender  stem.    "I  said,"    "»*« 

CJiitv  ? ] 

she  began,  "  that  I  had  loved  a  man  who  did  not 
care  for  me,  and  that  I  always  would.  Was  n't 
that  it?' 

"Something  like  that.  I  wish  to  God  I 
could  change  places  with  him." 

"Did  I,"  hesitated  Rose,  "are  you  sure — 
that  I  said — another  man,  or  was  it  just — a 
man?" 

"  Rose  !    What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

Covered  with  lovely  confusion,  she  stumbled 
over  to  the  window,  where  she  might  hide  her 
burning  face  from  him.  "Don't  you  think," 
she  asked,  unsteadily,  "that  it  is  beautiful 
here?  This  is  Aunt  Francesca's  little  house, 
where  she  came  when  she  was  first  married. 
She  always  calls  it  'the  little  house  where 
Love  lived/" 

"And  I  came  here,"  she  went  on,  cour 
ageously,  "because,  in  a  house  where  Love — 
had  lived,  I  thought  there  might  be  some — 
for " 

Her  voice  trailed  off  into  an  indistinct  mur 
mur.  "Rose,"  cried  Allison,  "couldn't  you 
give  me  just  what  I  had  before?  Could  n't  we 
go  back,  and  never  mind  the  other  man  ?  " 

"There  's  never  any  going  back,"  she  an 
swered,  in  a  whisper.  Her  heart  was  beating 
wildly  because  he  was  so  near.  "And  did  I 
say — are  you  sure  I  said — another  man  ?  " 

"  Rose !    Rose !    Look    at    me !    Tell    me, 


364 


IRoBC  ant)  Silver 


TUBbo  t>e 


for  God's  sake,  who  he  was — or  is.  I  can't 
bear  it ! " 

She  turned  toward  him.  "  Look,"  she  said, 
softly.  "  Look  in  my  face  and  see." 

For  a  tense  instant  he  hesitated.  Then,  with 
a  little  cry  of  joy,  he  clasped  her  close  forever, 
having  seen  his  own  face  mirrored  in  her  happy 
eyes. 


THE  END 


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